Recipe For Disaster: I Has One
by Navi.BLACK
Summary: Navi's back ... and she requests you read 'My Side of the Story' for this to make a lot of sense? ... It's Fourth year, what kind of shenanigans can she get up to this year? The answers a lot ... stupid question really. OC story
1. Chapter A: Letters Instead

**_A/N: HAHA! I'm not dead ... just overworked._**

**_I hate my teachers ... well, that and i finally seem to e getting a social life and going to the city every other weekend ... to go shopping._**

**_Anyway, so here's the first chapter of my Sequel, named :Recipe For Disaster: I Has One ... why?_**

**_Well, because Navi is a spaz ... and probably _DOES _have one ... anyway ONWARD!_**

**Chapter A: Yes, I'm using letters instead. Why? Well, why not to be honest? I mean seriously … having numbers get's a bit boring, and no one else is doing it … and this has gone on long enough.**

"Fred?"

" –if we just put that –"

"FRED!"

"_What_?"

"That wasn't supposed to go in yet."

"Oh bug–"

BOOM!

…

Maybe I should rewind a bit.

_So Harry and I were wandering down Mongolia Crescent, laughing really, really hard about_ – wait, not that far.

… Okay, so, you've just heard about when Mrs. Weasley basically kidnapped me, not that I resisted at all, and I was taken along with them to their house. The Burrow.

It was nice homey place that resided in Ottery St. Catchpole.

Current residence of Arthur, Molly, Percy, Fred, George, Ron and Ginny Weasley, and currently allowing me to board.

I even paid, which Molly insisted I didn't, but I snuck money around her back to Arthur.

Shhh. Don't tell anyone.

I was quite surprised when none of them seemed bothered, knowing that I was the daughter of 'mass murderer' (-insert scoff here-), Sirius Black … well, Percy did, but who counts him anyway?

Hi. For those of you just joining us, and are riddled with confusion … the name's Black, Naveya Black.

But, call me that, and I'll kill you.

Well, not really. Just injure. Or severely embarrass.

It's Navi. Or Veya if you're family. 'Nave', or 'Naves' is generally reserved for special people.

So, not you.

Just kidding. But in all seriousness, I hate my full name. Well, I don't hate it, I just hate being called it.

I'm making no sense.

Anyway, so, I live with the Weasley's, and I'm staying in Ginny's room.

Mr. and Mrs Weasley were more than happy to have me around, Ron was ecstatic, Ginny was happy to have another girl around the house, Percy … was well … despite constantly dropping hints that I might be in contact with my Dad (which I was by the way, secretly), and saying that I was a disaster waiting to happen, was otherwise not worried by my prescence.

And then I got bored.

But I easily took care of that. It involved superglue, Percy's chair, and a whole lot of laughter. The Twins were blamed for it of course, and being pranksters themselves, didn't tell on me … we've been plotting together all summer.

No one has been too impressed.

At all.

So, most of the holidays has been spent pranking, explosions, and making stuff … or trying to.

And then, to make things even more awesome than they already were, Mr. Weasley got everyone tickets to the Quidditch World Cup.

Quidditch: The most awesome wizarding sport in the universe.

Ginny had managed to convert me into a Quidditch fan in the short time I had been here.

Holyhead Harpies all the way.

The conversations (coughyellingmatchescough) between me and Ron were pretty funny. And things only got worse when Ron's older brothers came over for the World Cup.

I met the oldest, Bill, first.

Now, it was very judgemental of me … but come on … he was Head Boy. I expected him to be like an older version of Percy.

… He definitely wasn't that.

He was _awesome_. And he looked like a bloody rock star.

Was I impressed by the ginger ninja (My nickname for him)?

Absolutely.

And then came Charlie … man that was a fun introduction.

"_Hi," I said enthusiastically when the second oldest Weasley brother noticed me for the first time._

_He held his hand out to me and I took it._

"_Navi Black."_

_He had obviously been warned because he showed no shock at my name._

"_Charlie Weasley."_

Things just progressed from there.

He was also a major Quidditch nut, and I got into some fun arguments on who was the better team.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

"Holyhead Harpies!" I exclaimed, fully set on winning this time.

Charlie scowled. "You only like them because they only hire women."

"Not true!" I defended.

"I know where you sleep!" he retorted.

"And I know … actually, where _is_ your room?"

"I'm in the room next to Percy," he said to me, rolling his eyes.

"I'm sorry?" I asked.

"I'm in the room next to Percy," he said more clearly.

I grinned, "I heard you the first time, I'm just sorry."

Bill, hearing the conversation, snorted into his goblet, while the twins cackled, Ginny giggled, Ron grinned, and Percy scowled at me.

No, I haven't changed a bit.

I also got banned from the kitchen.

It wasn't my fault!

Harry sent me an owl asking for help. The Dursleys were going to put Dudley on a diet along with the rest of the 'family', which meant Harry had to go on it too.

So, there I was, doing the _right thing _when George comes along and throws flour at me.

Now, as a proud person who loves her hair, which currently had flour in it at the time, retaliated.

So, not only would be banned from the kitchen from then on, but the twins and I had to scrape the remnants of our food fight from the benches, floor _and_ the roof.

I know, life sounds terrible doesn't it?

Harry has expressed his jealously enough times in his letters for me to understand that I was the only good thing about Summer at the Dursleys.

Desperate, isn't he?

ONWARD!

Oh, and Hermione's been invited over for the Cup! So has Harry, but Hermione's getting here first.

And Fred, George, Ron, and I all volunteered for Harry's retrieval duty.

Watch out Durleys.

Three pranksters are coming … all of which don't like you very much.

Be afraid, be very afraid.

* * *

**End of Chapter A.**

**Hopefully see you all soon ... if not ... well ... i have a lot of SACs coming up.**

**Wish me luck!**

**Okay, let's play a game ... i tend to use a few real life quotes from my life in my stories ... let see if you can guess them ...**

**Navi out ...**


	2. Chapter B: Plan in Motion

_**A/N: SOoooooo sorry for not updating ... i've been really busy with SACs and just year 12 in general, joining a gym, free hugging ... and facebook, but don't worry, the holidays are coming up ... hopefully i'll get more time then ...**_

_**Oh, and ckickenchick, i don't want to give too much away ... but there is absolutely no way that Harry and Navi will get together ... that would be like incest in my eyes. They're god-siblings ... ew.**_

**Chapter B: Plan in Motion**

We had to wait up for Mr. Weasley to get home from work before we left, nd he was fairly late. By anout half-an-hour ... the Dursley's will _love_ that.

I'm guessing we arrived there at half-past five.

And _boy_, was it an adventure.

Mr. Weasley went first, follow by Fred, then George, and then me.

"Ouch, Navi!" Mr. Weasley said when I rammed into the three of them.

"What I do?" I asked.

Seems like Vermin had the fireplace blocked.

" –There's no room," Mr. Weasley said, "go back quickly and tell Ron-"

"Maybe Harry can hear us, Dad - maybe he'll be able to let us out-"

We hammered our fists on the wall.

"Harry? Harry, can you hear us?"

"Can ya let us know if we got the bloody house right?"

"_Navi!"_

There was a moment, and then we heard him.

"Mr. Weasley? Can you hear me?"

We stopped our hammering. Somebody, Fred I think, said, "Shh!"

"Mr. Weasley, it's Harry… the fireplace has been blocked up. You won't be able to get through there."

"Damn!" said Mr. Weasley. "What on earth did they want to block up the fireplace for?"

"They've got an electric fire," Harry explained.

"Really?" said Mr. Weasley excitedly. "Eclectic, you say? With a plug? Gracious, I must see that… Let's think… ouch, Ron!"

I laughed at Mr. Weasley's enthusiasm. Before a body banged into mine.

"What are we doing here? Has something gone wrong?"

"Oh no, Ron," said Fred, very sarcastically. "No, this is exactly where we wanted to end up."

"Yeah, we're having the time of our lives here," said George, who was squashed against the wall.

"You seem to be," I said, because I felt a hand on my ass.

"I can't help it!"

"_Sure_, you can't," I said with an eye roll.

"Navi, boys…" said Mr. Weasley vaguely. "I'm trying to think what to do… Yes… only way… Stand back, Harry."

"Wait a moment!" Vermin's voice bellowed. "What exactly are you going to -"

BANG.

A hole opened up in the wall, and we pretty much fell out.

Petunia shrieked and fell backward over the coffee table; Vernon caught her before she hit the floor, and gaped, speechless, as we fell out into the room, me being the only one without flaming red hair.

"That's better," panted Mr. Weasley, brushing dust from his long green robes and straightening his glasses. "Ah - you must be Harry's aunt and uncle!"

I sat up, and shook my head, amused by the amount of dust that fell off, so I did it again.

Mr Weasley moved toward Uncle Vernon, his hand outstretched, but Uncle Vernon backed away several paces, dragging Aunt Petunia. Words utterly failed Uncle Vernon. His best suit was covered in white dust, which had settled in his hair and mustache and made him look as though he had just aged thirty years since I had last seen him.

"Er - yes - sorry about that," said Mr. Weasley, lowering his hand and looking over his shoulder at the blasted fireplace. "It's all my fault. It just didn't occur to me that we wouldn't be able to get out at the other end. I had your fireplace connected to the Floo Network, you see - just for an afternoon, you know, so we could get Harry. Muggle fireplaces aren't supposed to be connected, strictly speaking - but I've got a useful contact at the Floo Regulation Panel and he fixed it for me. I can put it right in a jiffy, though, don't worry. I'll light a fire to send the boys and Navi back, and then I can repair your fireplace before I Disapparate."

The Dursleys didn't seem to understood a single word of this. They were still gaping at Mr. Weasley, thunderstruck. Aunt Petunia staggered upright again and hid behind Uncle Vernon.

"Hello, Harry!" said Mr. Weasley brightly. "Got your trunk ready?"

"It's upstairs," said Harry, grinning back.

"We'll get it," said Fred at once. Winking at Harry, he and George left the room.

"Well," said Mr. Weasley, swinging his arms slightly, while he tried to find words to break the very nasty silence. "Very - erm - very nice place you've got here." As the living room was now covered in dust and bits of brick, this remark didn't go down too well with the OCD Dursleys.

Uncle Vernon's face purpled once more, and Aunt Petunia started chewing her tongue again. However, they seemed too scared to actually say anything.

Mr. Weasley was looking around. He loved everything to do with Muggles. I could see him itching to go and examine the television and the video recorder.

"They run off eckeltricity, do they?" he said knowledgeably. "Ah yes, I can see the plugs. I collect plugs," he added to Uncle Vernon. "And batteries. Got a very large collection of batteries. My wife thinks I'm mad, but there you are."

I snickered slightly at the look on the Dursleys' faces. "You might want to tone down a bit, Mr. Weasley," I said with a grin.

Uncle Vernon clearly thought Mr. Weasley was absolutely mental. He moved ever so slightly to the right, screening Aunt Petunia from view, as though he thought Mr. Weasley might suddenly run at them and attack. Dudley suddenly reappeared in the room. I could hear the clunk of Harry's trunk on the stairs, and knew that the sounds had scared Dudley out of the kitchen. Dudley edged along the wall, gazing at Mr. Weasley with terrified eyes, and attempted to conceal himself behind his mother and father. Unfortunately, Uncle Vernon's bulk, while sufficient to hide bony Aunt Petunia, was nowhere near enough to conceal Dudley.

"Ah, this is your cousin, is it, Harry?" said Mr. Weasley, taking another brave stab at making conversation.

"Yep," said Harry, "that's Dudley."

He and Ron exchanged glances and then quickly looked away from each other. Dudley was still clutching his bottom as though afraid it might fall off.

Oh, yeah, I remember this story. Hagrid had given him a pig's tail just before Harry was whisked off into the world of magic for the first time … without me.

Mr. Weasley, however, seemed genuinely concerned at Dudley's peculiar behavior. And seemed to feel sorry for the whale, as if he was mentally … err … unwell.

"Having a good holiday, Dudley?" he said kindly.

Dudley whimpered. His hands tightened over his massive backside.

Fred and George came back into the room carrying Harry's school trunk. They glanced around as they entered and spotted Dudley. Their faces cracked into identical evil grins.

I grinned as well. We had planning this all day.

"Ah, right," said Mr. Weasley. "Better get cracking then."

He pushed up the sleeves of his robes and took out his wand. The Durdley's all backed up against the wall.

"Incendio!" said Mr. Weasley, pointing his wand at the hole in the wall behind him.

Flames rose at once in the fireplace. Mr. Weasley took a small drawstring bag from his pocket, untied it, took a pinch of the floo-powder inside, and threw it onto the flames, which turned emerald green and roared higher than ever.

"Off you go then, Fred," said Mr. Weasley.

"Coming," said Fred. "Oh no - hang on -"

A bag of 'sweets' had spilled out of Fred's pocket and the contents were now rolling in every direction - big, fat toffees in brightly colored wrappers. Our best product yet.

Fred scrambled around, cramming them back into his pocket, then gave the Dursleys a cheery wave, stepped forward, and walked right into the fire, saying "the Burrow!" Aunt Petunia gave a little shuddering gasp. There was a whooshing sound, and Fred vanished.

"Right then, George," said Mr. Weasley, "you and the trunk."

Harry helped George carry the trunk forward into the flames. Then, with a second whoosh, George had cried "the Burrow!" and vanished too.

"Ron, you next," said Mr. Weasley.

"See you," said Ron brightly to the Dursleys.

He grinned broadly at Harry, then stepped into the fire, shouted "the Burrow!" and disappeared.

"You too, Navi."

I nodded and winked at Dudley, "See you 'round tubby," before stepping into the fire, clearly shouting "the burrow!" and I whirled around, going faster and faster, before coming to a landing at the Weasley's.

Ron helped me to my feet, and we made our way to the kitchen, where Bill and Charlie were.

George eagerly told them what happened in great detail, and they burst into laughter.

"How're you doing, Harry?" Charlie asked Harry, who had just arrived, and appeared behind me.

Bill got to his feet, smiling, and also shook Harry's hand.

And Harry looked slightly shocked at the eldest brother's appearance.

Before any of them could say anything else, there was a faint popping noise, and Mr. Weasley appeared out of thin air at George's shoulder. He was looking angrier than I had ever seen him.

"That wasn't funny Fred!" he shouted. "What on earth did you give that Muggle boy?"

"I didn't give him anything," said Fred, with another evil grin. "I just dropped it… It was his fault he went and ate it, I never told him to."

"You dropped it on purpose!" roared Mr. Weasley. "You knew he'd eat it, you knew he was on a diet -"

"How big did his tongue get?" George asked eagerly.

"It was four feet long before his parents would let me shrink it!"

Harry, me and the Weasleys roared with laughter again.

"It isn't funny!" Mr. Weasley shouted. "That sort of behavior seriously undermines wizard-Muggle relations! I spend half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of Muggles, and my own sons–! "

"We didn't give it to him because he's a Muggle!" said Fred indignantly.

"No, we gave it to him because he's a great bullying git," said George. "Isn't he, Harry?"

"Yeah, he is, Mr. Weasley," said Harry earnestly. I gave a nod of agreement.

"That's not the point!" raged Mr. Weasley. "You wait until I tell your mother -"

"Tell me what?" said a voice behind them.

Oh … not good.

Mrs. Weasley had just entered the kitchen. Her eyes were presently narrowed with suspicion.

"Oh hello, Harry, dear," she said, spotting him and smiling. Then her eyes snapped back to her husband. "Tell me what, Arthur?"

Mr. Weasley hesitated. And I could tell that, however angry he was with Fred and George, he never really intended to tell Mrs. Weasley what had happened. There was a silence, while Mr. Weasley eyed his wife nervously. Then Hermione and Ginny appeared behind Mrs. Weasley.

Both of them smiled at Harry, who grinned back, which made Ginny go scarlet, and I snickered, earning myself a glare from the youngest red-head.

"Tell me what, Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley repeated, in a dangerous sort of voice.

"It's nothing, Molly," mumbled Mr. Weasley, "Fred and George just - but I've had words with them -"

"What have they done this time?" said Mrs. Weasley. "If it's got anything to do with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes -"

Ah, yes, the joke shop.

"Why don't you show Harry where he's sleeping, Ron?" said Hermione from the doorway.

"He knows where he's sleeping," said Ron, "in my room, he slept there last -"

"We can all go," said Hermione pointedly.

"Oh," said Ron, cottoning on. "Right."

"Yeah, we'll come too," said George.

"You stay where you are!" snarled Mrs. Weasley.

Winking at the twins, I followed Harry and Ron as they edged out of the kitchen, and us, Hermione, and Ginny set off along the narrow hallway and up the rickety staircase that zigzagged through the house to the upper stories.

**End of Chapter B**

**_Rokay, so, there's that ... now, if anyone finds any grammar mistakes ... let me know, and i'll fix it ... unless it's on purpose ... in which case ... nothing changes._**

**_So, hooroo, and keep reading and reviewing! Even if it's not mine ... but it'll make me feel better._**

**_Toodles, Navi out_**

**_oh, and by the way ... i've been thinking about making a vlog ... should i? Or is it just a waste of time?_**


	3. Chapter C: Randomization

**Chapter C: Just a bunch of randomization.**

"What are Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?" Harry asked as we climbed.

I laughed along with Ron and Ginny, although Hermione didn't.

"Mum found this stack of order forms when she was cleaning Fred and George's room," said Ron quietly. "Great long price lists for stuff they've invented. Joke stuff, you know. Fake wands and trick sweets, loads of stuff. It was brilliant, I never knew they'd been inventing all that…"

"We've been hearing explosions out of their room for ages, but we never thought they were actually making things," said Ginny. "We thought they just liked the noise."

"They do," I replied with a grin.

"Only, most of the stuff - well, all of it, really - was a bit dangerous," said Ron, as if I hadn't said anything, "and, you know, they were planning to sell it at Hogwarts to make some money, and Mum went mad at them. Told them they weren't allowed to make any more of it, and burned all the order forms… She's furious at them anyway. They didn't get as many O.W.L.s as she expected."

"And then there was this big row," Ginny said, "because Mum wants them to go into the Ministry of Magic like Dad, and they told her all they want to do is open a joke shop."  
Just then, a door on the second landing opened, and a Percy stuck his big fat out, a very annoyed expression on his face.

"Hi, Percy," said Harry.

"Oh hello, Harry," said Percy. "I was wondering who was making all the noise. I'm trying to work in here, you know I've got a report to finish for the office – and it's rather difficult to concentrate when people keep thundering up and down the stairs."

"We're not thundering, "said Ron irritably. "We're walking. Sorry if we've disturbed the top-secret workings of the Ministry of Magic."

"What are you working on?" Harry asked, and I rolled my eyes, suppressing the urge to groan.

Here we go again. Another speech about his damn job.

"A report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation," said Percy smugly. "We're trying to standardize cauldron thickness. Some of these foreign imports are just a shade too thin - leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost three percent a year -"

"That'll change the world, that report will," said Ron. "Front page of the Daily Prophet, I expect, cauldron leaks."

Percy went slightly pink.

"You might sneer, Ron," he said pompously, "but unless some sort of international law is imposed we might well find the market flooded with flimsy, shallow bottomed products that seriously endanger -"

"Yeah, yeah, all right," said Ron, and he started off upstairs again. Percy slammed his bedroom door shut. As we followed Ron up three more flights of stairs, shouts from the kitchen below echoed up to us. Mr. Weasley must have told Mrs. Weasley about the toffees. Hopefully, my name won't be mentioned.

Ron's room at the top of the house where Ron slept looked the same as last time I was in here: the same posters of Ron's favourite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons(terrible team, by the way), were whirling and waving on the walls and sloping ceiling, and the fish tank on the windowsill, which had one extremely large frog inside. Ron's tiny gray owl that Dad had given him was hopping up and down in a small cage and twittering madly.

"Shut up, Pig," said Ron, edging his way between two of the four beds that had been squeezed into the room. "Fred and George are in here with us, because Bill and Charlie are in their room," he told Harry. "Percy gets to keep his room all to himself because he's got to work."

"Er - why are you calling that owl Pig?" Harry asked Ron.

"Because he's being stupid," said Ginny, "Its proper name is Pigwidgeon."

I laughed.

"Yeah, and that's not a stupid name at all," said Ron sarcastically. "Ginny named him," he explained to Harry. "She reckons it's sweet. And I tried to change it, but it was too late, he won't answer to anything else. So now he's Pig. I've got to keep him up here because he annoys Errol and Hermes. He annoys me too, come to that."

Pigwidgeon zoomed happily around his cage, hooting shrilly.

Liar.

He loves that bird.

Better then the _rat _anyway.

"Where's Crookshanks?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Out in the garden, I expect," she said. "He likes chasing gnomes. He's never seen any before."

Neither had I, before I came here. They're mad as. I love 'em.

"Percy's enjoying work, then?" said Harry, sitting down on one of the beds and watching the Chudley Cannons zooming in and out of the posters on the ceiling.

"Enjoying it?" said Ron darkly. "I don't reckon he'd come home if Dad didn't make him. He's obsessed. Just don't get him onto the subject of his boss. According to Mr. Crouch… as I was saying to Mr. Crouch… Mr. Crouch is of the opinion… Mr. Crouch was telling me… They'll be announcing their engagement any day now."

"Wasn't that last week?" I asked, an Ron grinned over at me.

"Have you had a good summer, Harry?" said Hermione. "Did you get our food parcels and everything?"

"Yeah, thanks a lot," said Harry. "They saved my life, those cakes."

"Good," I replied. "We slaved over them for days."

Ginny snorted.

"_Slaved_? You got into a food fight with the twins."

I turned to look at her. "And if I remember correctly, you joined in."

"Only after you threw that egg at me!"

"I was aiming for Charlie!"

I wasn't.

"Well, you _missed_," she huffed, turning away from me.

"And have you heard from -?" Ron began to Harry, but at a look from Hermione he fell silent.

I knew he was asking about Dad.

I hadn't mentioned anything about receiving any mail from Dad. Didn't want anyone to overhear anything.

And discussing him in front of Ginny was a bad idea. Nobody but us and Professor Dumbledore knew about how Dad had escaped, or believed in his innocence.

"I think they've stopped arguing," said Hermione, to cover the awkward moment, because Ginny was looking curiously from Ron to Harry. "Shall we go down and help your mum with dinner?"

"Yeah, all right," said Ron. The five of us left Ron's room and went back downstairs to find Mrs. Weasley alone in the kitchen, looking extremely bad-tempered.

"We're eating out in the garden," she said when we came in. "There's just not room for twelve people in here. Could you take the plates outside, girls? Bill and Charlie are setting up the tables. Knives and forks, please, you two," she said to Ron and Harry, pointing her wand a little more vigorously than she had intended at a pile of potatoes in the sink, which shot out of their skins so fast that they ricocheted off the walls and ceiling.

I helped Ginny and Hermione with the plates, remembering back to when I was at the Orphanage and I helped set the tables for everyone.

When we got outside I grinned and whooped.

Charlie and Bill both had their wands out, and were making two battered old tables fly high above the lawn, smashing into each other,each attempting to knock the other's out of the air. Fred and George were cheering, Ginny was laughing, and Hermione was hovering near the hedge, apparently torn between amusement and anxiety. Bill's table caught Charlie's with a huge bang and knocked one of its legs off. There was a clatter from overhead, and we all looked up to see Percy's big fat head poking out of a window on the second floor.

"Will you keep it down?" he bellowed.

"Sorry, Perce," said Bill, grinning. "How're the cauldron bottoms coming on?"

"Very badly," said Percy peevishly, and he slammed the window shut. Chuckling, Bill and Charlie directed the tables safely onto the grass, end to end, and then, with a flick of his wand, Bill reattached the table leg and conjured tablecloths from nowhere.

By seven o'clock, the two tables were groaning under dishes and dishes of Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking, and the nine Weasleys, Harry, Hermione and I were settling ourselves down to eat beneath a clear, deep-blue sky.

At the far end of the table, Percy was telling his father all about his report on cauldron bottoms, while I was mocking him, complete with hand movements, making the others laugh.

"I've told Mr. Crouch that I'll have it ready by Tuesday," Percy was saying pompously. "That's a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he'll be grateful I've done it in good time, I mean, its extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup. We're just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ludo Bagman -"

"I like Ludo," said Mr. Weasley mildly. "He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favor: His brother, Otto, got into a spot of trouble - a lawnmower with unnatural powers - I smoothed the whole thing over."

"Oh Bagman's likable enough, of course," said Percy dismissively, "but how he ever got to be Head of Department… when I compare him to Mr. Crouch! I can't see Mr. Crouch losing a member of our department and not trying to find out what's happened to them. You realize Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?"

I sighed.

They'd talked about this a number of times.

Poor woman … I wonder where she is now?

"Yes, I was asking Ludo about that," said Mr. Weasley, frowning. "He says Bertha's gotten lost plenty of times before now - though must say, if it was someone in my department, I'd be worried…"

"Oh Bertha's hopeless, all right," said Percy. "I hear she's been shunted from department to department for years, much more trouble than she's worth… but all the same, Bagman ought to be trying to find her. Mr. Crouch has been taking a personal interest, she worked in our department at one time, you know, and I think Mr. Crouch was quite fond of her - but Bagman just keeps laughing and saying she probably misread the map and ended up in Australia instead of Albania. However" - Percy heaved an impressive sigh and took a deep swig of elderflower wine - "we've got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Cooperation without trying to find members of other departments too. As you know, we've got another big event to organize right after the World Cup."

Percy cleared his throat significantly and looked down toward the end of the table where Harry, Ron, Hermione and I were sitting. "You know the one I'm talking about, Father." He raised his voice slightly. "The top-secret one."

I made a disgruntled sound and stabbed at my potatoes.

Ron rolled his eyes and muttered to Harry and Hermione, "He's been trying to get us to ask what that event is ever since he started work. Probably an exhibition of thick-bottomed cauldrons."

In the middle of the table, Mrs. Weasley was arguing with Bill about his earring, which was a recent acquisition.

"… with a horrible great fang on it. Really, Bill, what do they say at the bank?"

"Mum, no one at the bank gives a damn how I dress as long as I bring home plenty of treasure," said Bill patiently.

"And your hair's getting silly, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, fingering her wand lovingly." I wish you'd let me give it a trim…"

"I like it," said Ginny, who was sitting beside Bill. "You're so old-fashioned, Mum. Anyway, it's nowhere near as long as Professor Dumbledore's…"

Well, this was true.

Next to Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, and Charlie were all talking spiritedly about the World Cup.

"It's got to be Ireland," said Charlie thickly, through a mouthful of potato. "They flattened Peru in the semifinals."

"Bulgaria has got Viktor Krum, though," said Fred.

"Krum's one decent player, Ireland has got seven," said Charlie shortly. "I wish England had got through. That was embarrassing, that was."

"What happened?" asked Harry eagerly, having been deprived from Quidditch knowledge over the Summer break.

"Went down to Transylvania, three hundred and ninety to ten," said Charlie gloomily.

"Shocking performance. And Wales lost to Uganda, and Scotland was slaughtered by Luxembourg."

"Well, I hope Ireland win," I added my own opinion. "They're a better side than those bloody Bulgarians anyway."

"_Language_!" Mrs. Weasley scolded me.

Mr. Weasley conjured up candles to light the darkening garden before we had our homemade strawberry ice cream (which was awesome by the way), and by the time we had all finished, moths were fluttering low over the table, and the warm air was perfumed with the smells of grass and honeysuckle.

Ron looked carefully up the table to check that the rest of the family were all busy talking, then he said very quietly to Harry, "So - have you heard from Sirius lately?"

Hermione looked around, listening closely.

"Yeah," said Harry softly, "twice. He sounds okay. I wrote to him yesterday. He might write back while I'm here. You, Navi?"

I nodded, "Yeah, a few times."

"Look at the time," Mrs. Weasley said suddenly, checking her wristwatch. "You really should be in bed, the whole lot of you you'll be up at the crack of dawn to get to the Cup. Harry, if you leave your school list out, I'll get your things for you tomorrow in Diagon Alley. I'm getting everyone else's. There might not be time after the World Cup, the match went on for five days last time."

"Wow - hope it does this time!" said Harry enthusiastically.

"Well, I certainly don't," said Percy sanctimoniously. "I shudder to think what the state of my in-tray would be if I was away from work for five days."

"Yeah, someone might slip dragon dung in it again, eh, Perce?" said Fred.

I snickered. The twins and I kind of …

"That was a sample of fertilizer from Norway!" said Percy, going very red in the face. "It was nothing personal!"

"It was," Fred whispered to Harry as we got up from the table, giving me a high-five. "We sent it."

**End of Chapter C.**

**Sorry for taking so long … been busy with work and my 'free hugging'. Oh, and hanging out at Minotaur on Elizabeth Street. Hopefully, you Melbourneers (if any read this) know what I'm talking about.**

**Navi out … oh, and again for you in Melbourne … I'm thinking that on Wednesday I go 'Free Hugging' down at Southbank … any thoughts?**


	4. Chapter D: I'm the Smuggler

**Chapter D: I'm the Smuggler.**

It was early in the morning when Mrs. Weasley came to get us girls up … and for once in my life … I was a morning person, happily whistling as I changed.

"Navi …" Ginny was saying, "I swear, if you don't shut up …"

Death by Ginger … there's a way to go, I thought with a grin.

I ended up wearing my blue skinny jeans, along with my black tank top, cream cardigan, simple brown boots, and a green bangle to show I was supporting Ireland.

Mrs. Weasley then came in to tell us to hurry up, and Ginny and Hermione reluctantly trudged downstairs, while I bounced happily, a grin on my face.

Turns out, we were the last ones down … bugger.

"Why do we have to be up so early?" Ginny said, rubbing her eyes as we sat down at the table, and Fred passed me some of their products under the table, in case one of them got caught.

"We've got a bit of a walk," said Mr. Weasley.

"Walk?" said Harry. "What, are we walking to the World Cup?"

"No, no, that's miles away," said Mr. Weasley, smiling. "We only need to walk a short way. It's just that it's very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup…"

"George!" said Mrs. Weasley sharply, and we all jumped.

Damn.

"What?" asked George, his tone 'innocent'. No one was fooled.

"What is that in your pocket?"

"Nothing!"

"Don't you lie to me!"

Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at George's pocket and said, "Accio!"

Several small, brightly colored objects zoomed out of George's pocket; he made a grab for them but missed, and they sped right into Mrs. Weasley's outstretched hand.

"We told you to destroy them!" said Mrs. Weasley furiously, holding up more Ton-Tongue Toffees. "We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!"

And this is why they use me for smuggling … no one ever suspects me. The daughter of the 'murderer' ... funny, innit?

Which is good … I guess.

"Accio! Accio! Accio!" Mrs. Weasley shouted, and toffees zoomed from all he hiding spots I told them about.

"We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted at his mother as she threw the toffees away. Well, there goes some of my summer.

"Oh a fine way to spend six months!" she shrieked. "No wonder you didn't get more O.W.L.s!"

All in all, the atmosphere was not very friendly as we took our departure. Mrs. Weasley was still glowering as she kissed Mr. Weasley on the cheek, though not nearly as much as the twins, who had each hoisted their rucksacks onto their backs and walked out without a word to her.

"Well, have a lovely time," said Mrs. Weasley, "and behave yourselves," she called after the twins' retreating backs, but they did not look back or answer.

I merely gave her a small hug of goodbye, trying not to get sprung.

"I'll send Bill, Charlie, and Percy along around midday," Mrs. Weasley said to Mr. Weasley, as we all set off across the dark yard after Fred and George.

And all of a sudden, my cheerful, straight out of bed mood was drained … the moon was still out, and the sun wasn't.

I never get up before the sun. Ever.

Harry, then sped up to walk with Mr. Weasley, while I caught up with the twins, handing them their stuff.

"You guys owe me."

"Sure," George grinned. "We're betting on the outcome of the game. How's twenty percent?"

I laughed and shook his hand in acceptance.

"Deal."

I continued to talk to the twins about other products they could start on.

We trudged down the dark, dank lane toward the village, the silence broken only by our murmured chatter, and footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as we made our way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue.

We didn't have breath to spare for talking as we began to climb Stoatshead Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, slipping on thick black tuffets of grass. I was just lucky that playing all that Quidditch at the Weasley's, over break kept me in shape.

"Whew," panted Mr. Weasley, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater, when we made it to the top. "Well, we've made good time - we've got ten minutes."

Hermione came over the crest of the hill last, clutching a stitch in her side. Poor girl.

"Now we just need the Portkey," said Mr. Weasley, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. "It won't be big… Come on…"

Ah, portkeys … Bill explained them to me when he arrived.

Objects, usually stuff that Muggles see as trash, that are used to teleport Wizards to different places. Usually used for long-distance travel or for people that don't like the other methods.

We all spread out, searching. But we didn't have to search for long.

"Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it."

Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop, clearly had found the Portkey.

"Amos!" said Mr. Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of us followed.

Mr. Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a moldy-looking old boot in his other hand.

"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," said Mr. Weasley. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?"

Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of around seventeen. He was Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team at Hogwarts. Quite the Hogwarts heartthrob … but way too old for me … but hey, I was a fourteen year old girl … I could dream.

"Hi," said Cedric, looking around at us all. Everybody said hi back except Fred and George, who merely nodded. They had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating our team in the first match of last year. They complained about it all summer.

"Long walk, Arthur?" Cedric's father asked.

"Not too bad," said Mr. Weasley. "We live just on the other side of the village there. You?"

"Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparition test. Still… not complaining… Quidditch World Cup, wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons - and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy…" Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at all of us. "All these yours, Arthur?"

"Oh no, only the redheads," said Mr. Weasley, pointing out his children. "This is Hermione, friend of Ron's -And there's Navi and Harry, more friends -"

"Merlin's beard," said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. "Harry? Harry Potter?"

Oh, God … here we go again.

"Er - yeah," said Harry.

"Ced's talked about you, of course," said Amos Diggory. "Told us all about playing against you last year… I said to him, I said - Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will… You beat Harry Potter!"

Git.

Fred and George were both scowling again.

"Harry fell off his broom, Dad," Cedric muttered. "I told you… it was an accident…"

Oh good, he wasn't smug about it.

"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?" roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. "Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman… but the best man won, I'm sure Harry's say the same, wouldn't you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don't need to be a genius to tell which one's the better flier!"

I'm sure good ol' 'Ced' would've fallen off too … had Dementors been right on his tail.

"Must be nearly time," said Mr. Weasley quickly, pulling out his watch again. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?"

"No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets," said Mr. Diggory. "There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"

"Not that I know of," said Mr. Weasley. "Yes, it's a minute off… We'd better get ready…"

He looked around at Harry and Hermione. "You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do -"

He knew i'd been given an explanation already.

With difficulty, owing to our bulky backpacks, the ten of us crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory. We all stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop.

Nobody spoke. I felt like an idiot.

"Three…" muttered Mr. Weasley, one eye still on his watch, 'two… one…"

It happened immediately: it felt as though a hook just behind my navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. We were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; our fingers were was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling us magnetically onward and then – I fell to the ground, losing my balance and falling with a yelp. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, and Cedric were still standing, though looking very windswept; everybody else was on the ground.

All four limbs? Check.

Ability to move finger and toes? Check.

Brain working again? … I'll get back to you on that one.

"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," said a voice.

**End Of Chapter D.**

_**A/N: … so … what did you think? I'm sorry about the sketchy updates … anywho … Believe it or not … Reviews do make me want to update …, and for those who do review … virtual hugs and dinosaur cookies for you. :)**_

_**And i'll put the link for Navi's outfit on my profile :)**_


	5. Chapter E: Events are Interesting

**_A/N: And for those people who haven't read the books ... i'm going by them ... for now ... unless you guys want me to add something in..._**

**Chapter E: Events are Interesting … yes, i'm going to try and have the chapter name starting with the letter … good fun.**

After we managed to disentangle from one another, I realised that there were two wizards in front of us … and both seemed pretty grumpy. One had a large gold watch, and was wearing a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes, and the other had a thick roll of parchment and was wearing … a poncho … with a kilt.

It took everything I had not to laugh, but I couldn't stop the grin. And they think that _Muggles_ are clueless.

"Morning, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; there were things like an old newspapers, empty drinks cans, and punctured footballs.

"Hello there, Arthur," said Basil wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some… We've been here all night… You'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite… Weasley… Weasley…" He consulted his parchment list. "About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts. Diggory… second field… ask for Mr. Payne."

Take that, Diggory, we got directions.

"Thanks, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, and he beckoned for us to follow him. We set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist.

After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, were ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon. We said good-bye to the Diggory's and approached the cottage door. A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. He must have been the only Muggle around for miles. When he heard our footsteps, he turned his head to look at us.

"Morning!" said Mr. Weasley brightly.

"Morning," said the Muggle.

"Would you be Mr. Roberts?"

"Aye, I would," said Mr. Roberts. "And who're you?"

"Weasley - two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"

"Aye," said Mr. Roberts, consulting a list tacked to the door. "You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"

"That's it," said Mr. Weasley.

"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr. Roberts.

"Ah - right - certainly -" said Mr. Weasley. He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Harry toward him. "Help me, Harry," he muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart. "This one's a - a - a ten? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now… So this is a five?"

Mr, Roberts listened in to everything, and I was grinning. Poor guy, probably thought Mr. Weasley was a bit stupid.

"A twenty," Harry corrected him in an undertone.

"Ah yes, so it is… I don't know, these little bits of paper…"

"You foreign?" said Mr. Roberts as Mr. Weasley returned with the correct notes. Or he could think that.

"Foreign?" repeated Mr. Weasley, puzzled.

Just go with it, man.

"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," said Mr. Roberts, scrutinizing Mr. Weasley closely. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."

Purebloods no doubt.

"Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley nervously.

Mr. Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change.

"Never been this crowded," he said suddenly, looking out over the misty field again. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up…"

"Is that right?" said Mr. Weasley, his hand held out for his change, but Mr. Roberts didn't give it to him.

"Aye," he said thoughtfully. "People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke walking 'round in a kilt and a poncho."

I stifled a snort into a cough, much to the twins' amusement.

"Shouldn't he?" said Mr. Weasley anxiously

"It's like some sort of… I dunno… like some sort of rally," said Mr. Roberts. "They all seem to know each other. Like a big party."

At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr. Roberts's front door.

"Obliviate!" he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts.

Instantly, Mr. Roberts's eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a took of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. Ah, memory wipe. Gotcha.

"A map of the campsite for you," Mr. Roberts said placidly to Mr. Weasley. "And your change."

"Thanks very much," said Mr. Weasley.

The wizard in plus-fours accompanied us toward the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted: His chin was blue with stubble and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr. Roberts, he muttered to Mr. Weasley, "Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur." He disapparated.

I scoffed, "You know, from what I've heard, that doesn't surprise me."

"I thought Mr. Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports," said Ginny, looking surprised. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?"

And i should know better than to antagonize Professor Snape in class ... but when does that stop me?

"He should," said Mr. Weasley, smiling, and leading them through the gates into the campsite, "but Ludo's always been a bit… well… lax about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic head of the sports department though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had."

We trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that we could hardly be surprised that Mr. Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance.

I blinked ... looked like something the Malfoys would have. Uppity inbreds.

A little farther on we passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent that had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain.

"Always the same," said Mr. Weasley, smiling. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."

We had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and here was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground that read WEEZLY.

"Couldn't have a better spot!" said Mr. Weasley happily. "The field is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be." He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders.

"Right," he said excitedly, "no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult… Muggles do it all the time… Here, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?"

I laughed. Harry had never been camping in his life; the Dursleys had never taken him on any kind of holiday, preferring to leave him with Mrs. Figg. However, along with Hermione and me, we worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go, and though Mr. Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help, because he got thoroughly overexcited when it came to using the mallet, we finally managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents.

All of us stood back to admire our handiwork. Hermione, Harry and I, all realised though … that when Charlie, Bill, and Percy … there'd be eleven of us. Mr. Weasley then dropped to his hands and knees and entered the first tent.

We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."

Harry bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and I went after him, shock overwhelming me. We had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. Oddly enough, it was furnished in exactly the same sort of style as Mrs. Figg's house, which I had been to about four times now. There were crocheted covers on the mismatched chairs and a strong smell of cats.

"Well, it's not for long," said Mr. Weasley, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief and peering in at the four bunk beds that stood in the bedroom. "I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much anymore, poor fellow, he's got lumbago."

He picked up the dusty kettle and peered inside it. "We'll need water…"

"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us," said Ron, who had followed Harry and me inside the tent and seemed completely unimpressed by its extraordinary inner proportions.

"It's on the other side of the field."

"Well, why don't you, Harry, Navi and Hermione go and get us some water then" - Mr. Weasley handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans - "and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire?"

"But we've got an oven," said Ron. "Why can't we just -"

"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" said Mr. Weasley, his face shining with child-like anticipation.

"When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors. I've seen them at it!"

After a quick tour of our girls' tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys', though without the smell of cats, which was good, our quartet set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.

Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, we could actually see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. We made our way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. I was astounded by the number of witches and wizards that had come from around the world, and then imagining the amount that didn't come … it was mind boggling.

The campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children; It was funny seeing witches and wizards this young. A tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami. As we drew level with him, his mother came hurrying out of the tent.

"How many times, Kevin? You don't - touch - Daddy's - wand - yecchh! "

She had trodden on the giant slug, which burst. Her scolding carried after them on the still air, mingling with the little boy's yells - "You bust slug! You bust slug!"

I laughed out loud, smiling happily. Gotta love kids.

A short way farther on, we saw two little witches, barely older than Kevin, who were riding toy broomsticks that rose only high enough for the girls' toes to skim the dewy grass. A Ministry wizard had already spotted them; as he hurried past us he muttered distractedly, "In broad daylight! Parents having a lie-in, I suppose -"

Here and there adult wizards and witches were emerging from their tents and starting to cook breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjured fires with their wands; others were striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though sure this couldn't work. Three African wizards sat in serious conversation, all of them wearing long white robes and roasting what looked like a rabbit on a bright purple fire, while a group of middle-aged American witches sat gossiping happily beneath a spangled banner stretched between their tents that read: THE SALEM WITCHES' INSTITUTE. Snatches of conversation in strange languages from the inside of tents could be heard as we passed, and though none of us couldn't understand a word, the tone of every single voice was excited.

"Er - is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?" said Ron.

It wasn't just Ron's eyes. We had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. Then, from behind us, we heard our names.

"Harry! Ron! Hermione! Navi!"

Ah. Hi, Seamus. He was sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with a sandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and his best friend, Dean Thomas. "Like the decorations?" said Seamus, grinning. "The Ministry's not too happy."

"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?" said Mrs. Finnigan. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?" she added, eyeing us beadily.

I brought up my bangled wrist and shaked it, earning a nod from her, while the other assured her that we were.

When we finallly set off again, Ron said, "Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot."

"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?" said Hermione.

"Let's go and have a look," suggested Harry, pointing to a large patch of tents upfield, where the Bulgarian flag - white, green, and red - was fluttering in the breeze. The tents here had not been bedecked with plant life, but each and every one of them had the same poster attached to it, a poster of a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture was, of course, moving, but all it did was blink and scowl.

"Krum," said Ron quietly. I rolled my eyes.

"What?" said Hermione. Please, don't Hermione. The last thing we need is a rant on how good the Bulgarian seeker is.

"Krum!" said Ron. "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"

"He looks really grumpy," said Hermione, looking around at the many Krums blinking and scowling at them. I snickered slightly.

"Really grumpy?" Ron raised his eyes to the heavens. "Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a genius, you wait until tonight, you'll see."

There was already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the field. We joined it, right behind a pair of men who were having a heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard who was wearing a long flowery nightgown. The other was clearly a Ministry wizard; he was holding out a pair of pinstriped trousers and almost crying with exasperation.

"Just put them on, Archie, there's a good chap. You can't walk around like that, the Muggle at the gate's already getting suspicious –

"I bought this in a Muggle shop," said the old wizard stubbornly. "Muggles wear them."

"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these," said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers.

"I'm not putting them on," said old Archie in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks."

Hermione was overcome with such a strong fit of the giggles at this point that she had to duck out of the queue, and I laughed as she walked away.

While I watched her, I saw a familiar person waving at me.

Terry Boot … Ravenclaw.

I was confused … we weren't friends. Giving him an odd look, I turned back to Harry and Ron.

Don't get me wrong, we'd spoken to each other … once … when we had class together … but that was it. Sure, he as alright looking, in a nerdy, Ravenclaw kind of way, with his brown hair that fell into his and made mant to brush – where the hell did that come from? I shook my head. I'm being such a girl.

Hermione finally returned when Archie had collected his water and moved away. Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, which was pretty heavy to be honest, we made our way back through the campsite. Here and there, we saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with their families. Oliver Wood, the old captain of the House Quidditch team, who had just left Hogwarts, dragged Harry over to his parents' tent, us right behind him, a he introduced Harry to them him, told us excitedly that he had just been signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team.

Good for him.

Next we were hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth year, and a little farther on we saw Cho Chang, who played Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. She waved and smiled at Harry, who slopped quite a lot of water down his front as he waved back.

I raised an eyebrow at my best mate, as he hurriedly pointed out a large group of teenagers whom we had never seen before.

"Who d'you reckon they are?" he said. "They don't go to Hogwarts, do they?"

"'Spect they go to some foreign school," said Ron. "I know there are others. Never met anyone who went to one, though. Bill had a penfriend at a school in Brazil… this was years and years ago… and he wanted to go on an exchange trip but Mum and Dad couldn't afford it. His penfriend got all offended when he said he wasn't going and sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up."

I laughed at that along with Harry.

It was amazing hearing about all the other wizarding schools though … it let us realise just how much bigger the world really was.

Hermione, was completely unsurprised by the information. No doubt she had run across the news about other wizarding schools in some book or other. Or specifically looked for it, knowing her.

"You've been ages," said George when we finally got back to the tents.

"Met a few people," said Ron, setting the water down. "You've not got that fire started yet?"

"Dad's having fun with the matches," said Fred.

Splintered matches littered the ground around him, but the older wizard looked as though he was having the time of his life.

"Oops!" he said as he managed to light a match and promptly dropped it in surprise.

"Come here, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione kindly, taking the box from him, and showing him how to do it properly.

At last they got the fire lit, though it was at least another hour before it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty to watch while we waited. Our tent seemed to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the field, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr. Weasley cordially as they passed. Mr. Weasley kept up a running commentary, mainly for Harry's, Hermione's and Navi's benefit; the others knew too much about the Ministry to be greatly interested. And why have I moved into third person?

"That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office… Here comes Gilbert Wimple; he's with the Committee on Experimental Charms; he's had those horns for a while now… Hello, Arnie… Arnold Peasegood, he's an Obliviator - member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know… and that's Bode and Croaker… they're Unspeakables…"

"They're what?"

"From the Department of Mysteries, top secret, no idea what they get up to…"

Cool … sounds very mysteried.

At last, the fire was ready, and we had just started cooking eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie, and Percy came strolling out of the woods toward the tents.

"Just Apparated, Dad," said Percy loudly. "Ah, excellent, lunch!"

No, you can wait. Cheater.

We were halfway through their plates of eggs and sausages when Mr. Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding toward them.

"Aha!" he said. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"

Ludo Bagman was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. He had the look of a powerfully built man gone slightly to seed; the robes were stretched tightly across a large belly he surely had not had in the days when he had played Quidditch for England. His nose was squashed, either from a bludger, or being punch in the face, I guessed, but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown schoolboy.

"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily. He was walking as though he had springs attached to the balls of his feet and was plainly in a state of wild excitement.

All in all, seemed like a very cheerful bloke.

"Arthur, old man," he puffed as he reached the campfire, "what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming… and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements… Not much for me to do!"

Behind him, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rushed past, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of a magical fire that was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air.

Percy hurried forward with his hand outstretched. Apparently his disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman ran his department did not prevent him from wanting to make a good impression.

"Suck up," I muttered, earning a nudge from Hermione.

"Ah - yes," said Mr. Weasley, grinning, "this is my son Percy. He's just started at the Ministry - and this is Fred - no, George, sorry - that's Fred - Bill, Charlie, Ron - my daughter, Ginny and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger, Navi Black and Harry Potter."

Bagman did the smallest of double takes when he heard Harry's name, and his eyes performed the familiar flick upward to the scar on Harry's forehead. This was going to get annoying, and I mean for me. I kind of felt sorry for Harry.

"Everyone," Mr. Weasley continued, "this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets -"

Bagman beamed and waved his hand as if to say it had been nothing.

"Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" he said eagerly, jingling what seemed to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow-and-black robes.

"I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first - I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years - and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a weeklong match."

"Oh… go on then," said Mr. Weasley. "Let's see… a Galleon on Ireland to win?"

"A Galleon?" Ludo Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself. "Very well, very well… any other takers?"

"They're a bit young to be gambling," said Mr. Weasley. "Molly wouldn't like -"

"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," said Fred as he and George quickly pooled all their money, "that Ireland wins - but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh and we'll throw in a fake wand."

I shook my head at their bet. If they win ... I'll ... do something nice for them when we get home.

"You don't want to go showing Mr. Bagman rubbish like that," Percy hissed, but Bagman didn't seem to think the wand was rubbish at all; on the contrary, his boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter.

"Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!"

Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval. I was grinning.

"Boys," said Mr. Weasley under his breath, "I don't want you betting… That's all your savings… Your mother -"

"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" boomed Ludo Bagman, rattling his pockets excitedly. "They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance… I'll give you excellent odds on that one… We'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we…"

Mr. Weasley looked on helplessly as Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins' names.

"Cheers," said George, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away into the front of his robes. Bagman turned most cheerfully back to Mr. Weasley.

"Couldn't do me a brew, I suppose? I'm keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number's making difficulties, and I can't understand a word he's saying. Barty'll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages."

"Mr. Crouch?" said Percy, suddenly abandoning his look of poker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement … I had to stifle a whimper … not again. "He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll…"

"Anyone can speak Troll," said Fred dismissively. "All you have to do is point and grunt."

Percy threw Fred and I an extremely nasty look as we high fived and stoked the fire vigorously to bring the kettle back to the boil.

"Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" Mr. Weasley asked as Bagman settled himself down on the grass beside them all.

"Not a dicky bird," said Bagman comfortably. "But she'll turn up. Poor old Bertha… memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She'll wander back into the office sometime in October, thinking it's still July."

"You don't think it might be time to send someone to look for her?" Mr. Weasley suggested tentatively as Percy handed Bagman his tea.

"Barty Crouch keeps saying that," said Bagman, his round eyes widening innocently, "but we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh - talk of the devil! Barty!"

A wizard had just Apparated at their fireside, and he could not have made more of a contrast with Ludo Bagman, sprawled on the grass in his old Wasp robes. Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. The parting in his short gray hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush mustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide rule. His shoes were very highly polished. Harry could see at once why Percy idolized him. Percy was a great believer in rigidly following rules, and Mr. Crouch had complied with the rule about Muggle dressing so thoroughly that he could have passed for a bank manager … ew.

"Pull up a bit of grass, Barry," said Ludo brightly, patting the ground beside him.

"No thank you, Ludo," said Crouch, and there was a bite of impatience in his voice. "I've been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box."

"Oh is that what they're after?" said Bagman. "I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."

"Mr. Crouch!" said Percy breathlessly, sunk into a kind of halfbow that made him look like a hunchback … reminded me of Igor in that movie ... "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Oh," said Mr. Crouch, looking over at Percy in mild surprise. "Yes - thank you, Weatherby."

The twins and I choked into our own cups. Percy, very pink around the ears, busied himself with the kettle.

"Oh and I've been wanting a word with you too, Arthur," said Mr. Crouch, his sharp eyes falling upon Mr. Weasley. "Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets."

Mr. Weasley heaved a deep sigh.

"I sent him an owl about that just last week. If I've told him once I've told him a hundred times: Carpets are defined as a Muggle Artifact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?"

"I doubt it," said Mr. Crouch, accepting a cup from Percy. "He's desperate to export here."

"Well, they'll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?" said Bagman.

"Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle," said Mr. Crouch. "I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve - but that was before carpets were banned, of course."

He spoke as though he wanted to leave nobody in any doubt that all his ancestors had abided strictly by the law.

"So, been keeping busy, Barty?" said Bagman breezily.

"Fairly," said Mr. Crouch dryly. "Organizing Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo."

"I expect you'll both be glad when this is over?" said Mr. Weasley.

Ludo Bagman looked shocked.

"Glad! Don't know when I've had more fun… Still, it's not as though we haven't got anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organize, eh?"

Mr. Crouch raised his eyebrows at Bagman.

"We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details -"

Is it –?

"Oh details!" said Bagman, waving the word away like a cloud of midges. "They've signed, haven't they? They've agreed, haven't they? I bet you anything these kids'll know soon enough anyway. I mean, it's happening at Hogwarts -"

"Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know," said Mr. Crouch sharply, cutting Bagman's remarks short. So close … "Thank you for the tea, Weatherby."

He pushed his undrunk tea back at Percy and waited for Ludo to rise; Bagman struggled to his feet, swigging down the last of his tea, the gold in his pockets chinking merrily.

"See you all later!" he said. "You'll be up in the Top Box with me - I'm commentating!" He waved, Barty Crouch nodded curtly, and both of them Disapparated.

"What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?" said Fred at once. "What were they talking about?"

"You'll find out soon enough," said , smiling.

"It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it," said Percy stiffly. "Mr. Crouch was quite right not to disclose it."

"Oh shut up, Weatherby," said Fred, and I gave him a high five, earning us a scowl from Percy.

As the day kept going, people got ever more excited … all of us looking forward to the game.

Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes - green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria - which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries that played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.

"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this," Ron told Harry as they and Hermione strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs. Though Ron purchased a dancing shamrock hat and a large green rosette, he also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum walked backward and forward over Ron's hand, scowling up at the green rosette above him. I simply bought one of the singing Irish flags, along with three rosettes.

"Wow, look at these!" said Harry, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered with all sorts of weird knobs and dials.

"Omnioculars," said the saleswizard eagerly. "You can replay action… slow everything down… and they flash up a play-by- play breakdown if you need it. Bargain - ten Galleons each."

"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars. I laughed, patting him on the back.

"Four pairs," said Harry firmly to the wizard.

"No - don't bother," said Ron, going red. He was always touchy about the fact that Harry, who had inherited a small fortune from his parents, much like meself, had much more money than he did.

"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his , Hermione's and I's hands. "For about ten years, mind."

"Bull," I coughed, and Harry grinned at me.

"Fair enough," said Ron, grinning, not hearing my 'cough'.

"Oooh, thanks, Harry," said Hermione. "And I'll get us some programs, look -"

Our money bags considerably lighter, we went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold.

"Here," I said to them, handing them each a rosette, which they thanked me for, and by thank I mean shoved me in 'affection'.

And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field.

"It's time!" said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of us. "Come on, let's go!"

**End Of Chapter E.**

**I think this is my longest chapter yet … NEXT, the WORLD CUP! WHOO!**

**Oh, and I have two questions … what should Sirius get Navi for her birthday? And i'm putting a link for dresses for the Yule Ball on my profile … I need you guys to pick which colour for me … otherwise she's going naked (XD Jokes) … but I still need feedback.**

**Xoxo Navi.**

**R&R for love.**

**v**

**v**


	6. Chapter F: For Ireland!

**Chapter F: For Ireland!**

Mr. Weasley led the way as we hurried through the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. We could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around us, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; None of us couldn't stop grinning. The Twins and I were badly singing along together, but no one seemed to care. We walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last we emerged on the other side and found our in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though we could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, I could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it.

"Seats a hundred thousand," said Mr. Weasley. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again… bless them," he added fondly, leading the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

"Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked their tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."

Did he know _everyone_?

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. We clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to our left and right. Mr. Weasley's party kept climbing, and at last they reached the top of the staircase and found ourselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, we sat in the front row with the Weasleys, and I reaslised that we were taking up about half the seats. Our view, which was quite amazing, looked down upon a scene the likes of which I could never have imagined.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at our eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again; watching it, Harry and I noticed that it was flashing advertisements across the field.

The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family - safe, reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burgler Buzzer… Mrs. Shower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain!… Gladrags Wizardwear - London, Paris, Hogsmeade…

"Dobby?" said Harry incredulously, and I spun around to see a tiny creature sitting in the second from last seat at the end of the row behind them. The creature, whose legs were so short they stuck out in front of it on the chair, was wearing a tea towel draped like a toga, and it had its face hidden in its hands. .

"Did sir just call me Dobby?" squeaked the elf curiously from between its fingers. We had heard a lot about Dobby from Harry, but we had never actually met him. Even Mr. Weasley looked around in interest.

"Sorry," Harry told the elf, "I just thought you were someone I knew."

"But I knows Dobby too, sir!" squeaked the elf.

I blinked … okay … seriously … that was creepy. Everyone knows everyone around here.

The house elf was shielding her face, as though blinded by light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit. "My name is Winky, sir - and you, sir -" Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon Harry's scar. "You is surely Harry Potter!"

"Yeah, I am," said Harry.

"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!" she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck.

"How is he?" said Harry. "How's freedom suiting him?"

"Ah, sir," said Winky, shaking her head, "ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free."

Freedom _wasn't_ a good thing?

"Why?" said Harry, taken aback. "What's wrong with him?"

"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir," said Winky sadly. "Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir."

"Why not?" said Harry.

Winky lowered her voice by a half-octave and whispered, "He is wanting paying for his work, sir."

Hermione and I exchanged looks of horror. Not paid?

Paying?" said Harry blankly. "Well - why shouldn't he be paid?"

Winky looked quite horrified at the idea and closed her fingers slightly so that her face was half-hidden again.

"House-elves is not paid, sir!" she said in a muffled squeak. "No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin."

"Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun," said Harry.

"House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter," said Winky firmly, from behind her hands. "House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter" - she glanced toward the edge of the box and gulped - "but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir."

"Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" said Harry, frowning.

"Master - master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy," said Winky, tilting her head toward the empty space beside her. "Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf."

She gave the edge of the box another frightened look and hid her eyes completely again. Harry turned back to us.

"So that's a house-elf?" Ron muttered. "Weird things, aren't they?"

"Dobby was weirder," said Harry fervently.

Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and started testing them, staring down into the crowd on the other side of the stadium.

"Wild!" he said, twiddling the replay knob on the side. "I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again… and again… and again…"

Okay, that's just gross.

Hermione, meanwhile, was skimming eagerly through her velvetcovered, tasseled program.

"'A display from the team mascots will precede the match,'" she read aloud.

"Oh that's always worth watching," said Mr. Weasley. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."

* * *

The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. Mr. Weasley kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he were trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Making the twins and I snicker in amusement.

Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like an old friend. Fudgie shook Harry's hand in a fatherly fashion, asked how he was, and introduced him to the wizards on either side of him.

"Harry Potter, you know," he told the Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn't seem to understand a word of English.

"Harry Potter… oh come on now, you know who he is… the boy who survived You-Know-Who… you do know who he is -"

The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it.

"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge wearily to Harry. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat…Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places… ah, and here's Lucius!"

I turned quickly, along with Harry Hermione and Ron. Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr. Weasley were none other than the Malfoy family. Lucius Malfoy; his son, Draco; and a woman must've be Draco's mother. A pale boy with a pointed face and white-blond hair, Draco greatly resembled his father. His mother was blonde too; tall and slim, she would have been nice-looking if she hadn't been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose.

I didn't even bother hiding the glare I sent Draco, who glared right back at me.

"Ah, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk - Obalonsk - Mr. - well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else - you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

It was a tense moment. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy looked at each other and I remembered Harry and Ron telling me about the last time these two faced off. It had been in Flourish and Blotts' bookshop, and they had had a fight. Mr. Malfoy's cold gray eyes swept over Mr. Weasley, and then up and down the row.

"Good lord, Arthur," he said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

I growled slightly, and Harry nudged me, but he too, did not look impressed.

Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."

"How - how nice," said Mr. Weasley, with a very strained smile.

Mr. Malfoy's eyes had returned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him.

The Malfoys prided themselves on being purebloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second-class.

His eyes then turned to mine, and I focused my glare at him, and a flash of recognition appeared in his eyes, and he smirked slightly.

However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mr. Malfoy didn't dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr. Weasley and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Harry, Ron, Hermione and me, one contemptuous look, then settled himself between his mother and father.

His mother was staring at me curiously, recognition in her eyes as well, and I turned away from her, back to the front.

"Slimy gits," Ron muttered as he, Harry, and Hermione turned to face the field as well. Next moment, Ludo Bagman charged into the box.

"Everyone ready?" he said, his round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam. "Minister - ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge comfortably.

Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said "Sonorus!" and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands.

"Ladies and gentlemen… welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message (Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans - A Risk With Every Mouthful!) and now showed BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval.

"I wonder what they've brought," said Mr. Weasley, leaning forward in his seat. "Aaah!" He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. "Veela!"

"What are veel -?"

But a hundred veela were now gliding out onto the field, and Harry's question was answered for us all. They appeared to be rather attractive humanish creatures.

All the men were drooling. Even the ones next to me … pathetic.

As the Veela's dancing got faster and faster, I noticed that both Ron and Harry had gotten out of their seats.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione asked.

The music stopped, and the boys seemed to regain themselves.

Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn't want the veela to go. Harry was with them; he would, of course, be supporting Bulgaria, and he wondered vaguely why he had a large green shamrock pinned to his chest. Ron, meanwhile, was absentmindedly shredding the shamrocks on his hat. Mr. Weasley, smiling slightly, leaned over to Ron and tugged the hat out of his hands.

"You'll be wanting that," he said, "once Ireland have had their say."

"Huh?" said Ron, staring openmouthed at the veela, who had now lined up along one side of the field.

Hermione made a loud tutting noise.

She reached up and pulled Harry back into his seat. "Honestly!" she said, while I laughed at his confused expression, as if he wasn't really sure what he was doing, or what was going on.

"And now," roared Ludo Bagman's voice, "kindly put your wands in the air… for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold comet came zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed, as though at a fireworks display. Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it –

"Excellent!" yelled Ron as the shamrock soared over them, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats. Squinting up at the shamrock, Harry realized that it was actually comprised of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green.

"Leprechauns!" said Mr. Weasley over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom were still fighting and rummaging around under their chairs to retrieve the gold. I just laughed, hadn't I read somewhere that it disappeared after a while?

"There you go," Ron yelled happily, stuffing a fistful of gold coins into Harry's hand, "for the Omnioculars! Now you've got to buy me a Christmas present, ha!"

The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you - Dimitrov!"

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.

"Ivanova!"

A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand - Krum!"

"That's him, that's him!" yelled Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars. And I focused with my own.

Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an overgrown bird of prey. It was hard to believe he was only eighteen.

"And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!" yelled Bagman. "Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand - Lynch!"

Seven green blurs swept onto the field; I followed with my Omnioculars, only managing to just keep up with them … and almost hitting Harry in the face.

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a mustache to rival Vermin's, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the mustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other.

Excitement was racing through me … this was awesome.

Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open - four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and I assumed the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch, was in there as well … I couldn't see it.

With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" screamed Bagman. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

It was Quidditch as I had never seen it played before. The speed of the players was incredible - the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names.

* * *

"TROY SCORES!" roared Bagman when the green blur managed to throw the quaffel into the hoop, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. "Ten zero to Ireland!"

"What?" Harry yelled, looking wildly around through his Omnioculars. "But Levski's got the Quaffle!"

I laughed, he'd slowed down the match.

Tool …

"Harry, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!" shouted Hermione, who was dancing up and down, waving her arms in the air while Troy did a lap of honor around the field.

Harry looked quickly over the top of his Omnioculars and saw that the leprechauns watching from the sidelines had all risen into the air again and formed the great, glittering shamrock. Across the field, the veela were watching them sulkily.

Furious with himself, Harry spun his speed dial back to normal as play resumed.

The Irish worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds as they positioned themselves, and the rosette' kept squeaking their names: "Troy - Mullet - Moran!" And within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the greenclad supporters.

I whistled and cheered along with them.

The match became still faster, but more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers, and were starting to prevent them from using some of their best moves; twice they were forced to scatter, and then, finally, Ivanova managed to break through their ranks; dodge the Keeper, Ryan; and score Bulgaria's first goal.

"Fingers in your ears!" bellowed Mr. Weasley as the veela started to dance in celebration.

The veela soon stopped dancing, when Bulgaria was again in possession of the Quaffle.

"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova - oh I say!" roared Bagman. One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the center of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes.

"They're going to crash!" screamed Hermione.

She was half right - at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats. And I winced … that had to hurt.

"Fool!" moaned Mr. Weasley. "Krum was feinting!"

"It's time-out!" yelled Bagman's voice, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"

"He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!" Charlie said reassuringly to Ginny, who was hanging over the side of the box, looking horror-struck. "Which is what Krum was after, of course…"

I pressed the replay and play-by-play buttons on my Omnioculars, twiddled the speed dial, and put them back up to my eyes, as a couple of other people did the same. I watched as Krum and Lynch dived again in slow motion. WRONSKI DEFENSIVE FEINT - DANGEROUS SEEKER DIVERSION read the shining purple lettering across the lenses. I saw Krum's face contorted with concentration as he pulled out of the dive just in time, while Lynch was flattened, ahah! - Krum hadn't seen the Snitch at all, he was just making Lynch copy him! I turned my Omnioculars back to normal and pulled them from my face. Krum was now circling high above Lynch, who was being revived by mediwizards with cups of potion. He was using the time while Lynch was revived to look for the Snitch without interference.

Lynch got to his feet at last, to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air. His revival seemed to give Ireland new heart. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivaled by anything Harry or I had seen so far.

After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals.

They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier. As Mullet shot toward the goal posts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her. Whatever happened was over so quickly I didn't catch it, but a scream of rage from the Irish crowd, and Mostafa's long, shrill whistle blast, told us it had been a foul.

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing — excessive use of elbows!" Bagman informed the roaring spectators. "And - yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"

The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets when Mullet had been fouled, now darted together to form the words "HA, HA, HA!" The veela on the other side of the field leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily, and started to dance again.

As one, the Weasley boys and Harry stuffed their fingers into their ears, but Hermione, Ginny and I didn't bother. Prissy Veelas didn't affect us girls.

"Look at the referee!" I heard Hermione say, giggling.

Hassan Mostafa had landed right in front of the dancing veela, and was acting very oddly indeed. He was flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache excitedly.

I snorted, before breaking out into giggles along with Hermione. Men.

"Now, we can't have that!" said Ludo Bagman, though he sounded highly amused. "Somebody slap the referee!"

A mediwizard came tearing across the field, his fingers stuffed into his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins. Mostafa seemed to come to himself; he looked exceptionally embarrassed and had started shouting at the veela, who had stopped dancing and were looking mutinous.

"And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots!" said Bagman's voice. "Now there's something we haven't seen before… Oh this could turn nasty…"

It did: The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed on either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him, gesticulating toward the leprechauns, who had now gleefully formed the words "HEE, HEE, HEE." Mostafa was not impressed by the Bulgarians' arguments, however; he was jabbing his finger into the air, clearly telling them to get flying again, and when they refused, he gave two short blasts on his whistle.

"Two penalties for Ireland!" shouted Bagman, and the Bulgarian crowd howled with anger. "And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms… yes… there they go… and Troy takes the Quaffle."

Play now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything we had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy: Volkov and Vulchanov in particular seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludger or human as they swung them violently through the air. Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.

"Foul!" roared the Irish supporters as one, all standing up in a great wave of green. "Foul!" echoed Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice. "Dimitrov skins Moran - deliberately flying to collide there - and it's got to be another penalty - yes, there's the whistle!"

The leprechauns had risen into the air again, and this time, they formed a giant hand, which was making a very rude sign indeed at the veela across the field. At this, the veela lost control. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Their faces were elongating into sharp, cruelbeaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders – not so beautiful now … interesting …

"And that, boys," yelled Mr. Weasley over the tumult of the crowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone!"

I grinned at that … especially when one of the twins (I had yet to grant the ability to tell them apart from afar, yelled out, "Guess Navi's out then!"

I glared good-naturedly at them, only receiving winks in return.

Ministry wizards were flooding onto the field to separate the veela and the leprechauns, but with little success; meanwhile, the pitched battle below was nothing to the one taking place above. I turned this way and that, staring through my Omnioculars, as the Quaffie changed hands with the speed of a bullet.

"Levski - Dimitrov - Moran - Troy - Mullet - Ivanova - Moran again - Moran - MORAN SCORES!"

But the cheers of the Irish supporters were barely heard over the shrieks of the veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry members' wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians.

The game recommenced immediately; now Levski had the Quaffle, now Dimitrov - The Irish Beater Quigley swung heavily at a passing Bludger, and hit it as hard as possible toward Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him full in the face, and I winced.

There was a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum's nose looked broken, there was blood everywhere, but Hassan Mostafa didn't blow his whistle. He had become distracted, and I couldn't blame him; one of the veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom tail alight.

The boys wanted someone to realize that Krum was injured; even though he was supporting Ireland, they thought that Krum was the most exciting player on the field.

"Time-out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him -"

"Look at Lynch!" Harry yelled.

For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and I was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing…

"He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted. "He's seen it! Look at him go!" Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on… but Krum was on his tail. How he could see where he was going, Harry had no idea; there were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again -

"They're going to crash!" shrieked Hermione.

"They're not!" roared Ron.

"Lynch is!" yelled Harry, over my own cheering for the Irish seeker.

But he was right - for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry veela.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" bellowed Charlie, along the row.

"He's got it - Krum's got it - it's all over!" shouted Harry.

Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand.

The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realized what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match.

"KRUM GETS THE SNITCH - BUT IRELAND WINS — good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

My eyes darted over to the twins in shock. Well played boys, well played.

"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Ron bellowed, even as he jumped up and down, applauding with his hands over his head. "He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!"

"He knew they were never going to catch up!" Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly. "The Irish Chasers were too good… He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all…

"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione said, leaning forward to watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. "He looks a terrible mess…"

It was hard to see what was happening below,even through the Omnioculars, because leprechauns were zooming delightedly all over the field, but I could just make out Krum, surrounded by mediwizards. He looked surlier than ever and refused to let them mop him up. His team members were around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected; a short way away, the Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descending from their mascots.

Flags were waving all over the stadium, mine included, and the Irish national anthem blared from all sides; the veela were shrinking back into their usual, beautiful selves now, though looking dispirited and forlorn.

"Vell, ve fought bravely," said a gloomy voice behind me. I looked around; it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.

"You can speak English!" said Fudge, sounding outraged. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"

"Veil, it vos very funny," said the Bulgarian minister, shrugging.

Well, at least he's got a sense of humour.

"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" roared Bagman.

Our eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light, as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Squinting toward the entrance, he saw two panting wizards carrying a vast golden cup into the box, which they handed to Cornelius Fudge, who was still looking very disgruntled that he'd been using sign language all day for nothing.

"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers - Bulgaria!" Bagman shouted.

And up the stairs into the box came the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd below was applauding appreciatively; thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flashing and winking in their direction … awkward.

One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch. I noticed that he seemed much less coordinated on the ground. He was slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. But when Krum's name was announced, the whole stadium gave him a resounding, earsplitting roar.

And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval.

At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Confolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, "Quietus."

"They'll be talking about this one for years," he said hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that… shame it couldn't have lasted longer… Ah yes… yes, I owe you… how much?"

For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched.

What was it we agreed on again? Twenty percent?

I think I'll donate it to their cause. They need all the gold they can get with what they're planning …

**END OF CHAPTER F**

**R&R for virtual cookies … and can people _please_ vote on Navi's Dress for Yule Ball? … link in profile … **

**Love Navi … 3 3**


	7. Chapter G: Get Me Out of Here

_**A/N: I … am a terrible author. For those who don't want to read my stupid excuses and interesting happenings that have happened since I last updated (which was an embarrassingly long time ago) … scroll to the bit that says "**_**Chapter G".**

_**Okay … first things first … Year 12 is hectic as hell. Hell, my exams are coming up soon … and I am procrastinating my maths study by writing this.**_

_**Well, for anyone who cares … i'm 18 now … I can buy alcohol, and have abused this new power often. I went to the zoo for my 18th, instead of having a piss up like everyone else was. I also have a boyfriend … how exciting … 18 years old with her first boyfriend. Said boyfriend refuses to believe this.**_

_**But you probably don't care about him.**_

_**I attended the Harry Potter Midnight Premier … in costume with two of my friends. We had our free hugs signs with us as well … and got hit on by drunk people ... On a Tuesday night … that's Melbourne for you. Anyway, so I went, and it was amazing. In addition … last Wednesday night was the final showing of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 down at IMAX … so I went to see it … again in costume … and got pretty emotional. It was the last time I would ever see Harry on the big screen … of course I was bloody emotional!**_

_**Homophobes look away: I also came to terms with the fact that i'm bisexual. Out and proud. Not a surprise really … my first kiss was from a girl. My boyfriend took it really well … and my friend hit him when he mentioned a threesome. I'm bi … not a slut. I was amused as he spluttered trying to cover himself …my parents don't know yet … and I have no intention of telling them, unless anyone of you knows a good way to break it to them.**_

_**I also attended an Equal Love Rally … that was loads of fun … Here's an interesting quote.**_

"_**See, there's the Free Hugs Girl(that was me)" a random guy pointed out.**_

_**His lesbain friend that he was with. "You're right, she is hot."**_

_**Self to say that boost my self-esteem greatly.**_

_**So, School, movies, Boyfriend, sexuality, rallying … what else? Oh, yes, I appear to have a social life now … which I did not have before. This includes actually going out on a Saturday night … how surprising.**_

_**I have also found a new fascination with make-up ... and have fallen in love with 's eye looks ... you should check it out ... you really should.**_

_**And now for another pitiful excuse … like I said with the exams … they're coming up fast … in November … and it's my whole future on a platter … so … unless I find some other excuse, wait for another update in December … as the boyfriend is going away with his family and can't distract me.**_

**Chapter G: Get Me Out of Here.**

"Don't tell your mother you've been gambling," Mr. Weasley implored Fred and George as we all made our way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs.

"Don't worry, Dad," said Fred gleefully, winking at me, "we've got big plans for this money. We don't want it confiscated."

Mr. Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he didn't want to know. Good choice, my man. Good choice.

We were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to our campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward us on the night air as we retraced our steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over our heads, cackling and waving their lanterns.

Who could blame them … I wasn't exactly silent … much to everyone else's annoyance.

I was told by several people that perhaps I shouldn't persue a career in singing in my future.

Damn straight … I was going to live at the Twins' and cause mischief and mayhem … Dad would be proud.

When we finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, and given the level of noise around us … added with our own noise. Mr. Weasley agreed that we could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in.

Shame really … I felt like I could go on forever, celebrating with the best people in the world.

The others were soon arguing enjoyably about the match; Mr. Weasley got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilled hot chocolate all over the floor that Mr. Weasley called a halt to the verbal replays and insisted that we all go to bed.

Shame on you Ginny. This is all your fault. I wanted to party!

Hermione, Ginny and I went into our tent, where Hermione forbade me from disturbing them from their sleep. She can get pretty scary when she wants to be.

From the other side of the campsite we could still hear much singing and the odd echoing bang. I wanted to join them.

"Please, Hermione?"

"No," she ground out, throwing a pillow at me.

Grumbling, I crawled into bed … which was warm and cozy … screw it … I wanted to sleep after all.

* * *

"Girls!" someone yelled.

"Five more minutes," I moaned sleepily, rolling over, only to be shaken awake.

"We have to get out, now!"

It was Mr. Weasley yelling … and it sounded urgent.

I finally got up, hearing screams of people, and I grabbed a jumper, throwing it over my pyjamas, running outside with the other girls.

People were running everywhere in a panic. Lights were flashing, and loud bangs could be heard. People were running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward us, away from the light and the noise.

A green light illuminated the scene. A crowd of hooded and masked wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field.

High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes.

Two of the figures were very small. They were kids. More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. A few of the marchers would occasionally blast a tent out of his way with his wand. Several caught fire. The screaming grew louder.

It was the camp manager above them though … and no doubt the others were his wife and children.

Horror and disgust filled me as I watched the scene, making my way over to Harry and Ron.

Bill, Charlie, and Percy then emerged from the boys' tent, fully dressed, with their sleeves rolled up and their wands out.

"We're going to help the Ministry!" Mr. Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his own sleeves. "You lot - get into the woods, and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"

Bill, Charlie, and Percy were already sprinting away toward the oncoming marchers; Mr. Weasley tore after them. Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction toward the source of the trouble. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was coming ever closer.

"C'mon," said Fred, grabbing Ginny's hand and starting to pull her toward the wood. The rest of us followed. We all looked back as soon as we reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; I could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the center, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall.

It was sickening to watch.

The colored lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished. Figures were running everywhere … all I could hear was the sounds of the riot, as well as people screaming, yelling and crying.

We pushed along with the crowd, knocking into things. Then Ron yelled with pain.

"What happened?" said Hermione anxiously, stopping so abruptly that Harry and I walked into her. "Ron, where are you? Oh this is stupid - lumos!"

She illuminated her wand and directed its narrow beam across the path. Ron was lying sprawled on the ground.

"Ron, you okay?" I asked … stupid question really.

"Tripped over a tree root," he said angrily, getting to his feet again.

"Well, with feet that size, hard not to," said a drawling voice from behind them.

I would know that bloody annoying voice anywhere. Draco Malfoy was standing alone nearby, leaning against a tree, looking utterly relaxed.

His arms folded, he seemed to have been watching the scene at the campsite through a gap in the trees. Ron told Malfoy to do something that we knew he would never have dared say in front of Mrs. Weasley.

"Language, Weasley," said Malfoy, his pale eyes glittering. "Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like her spotted, would you?"

He nodded at Hermione, and at the same moment, a blast like a bomb sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lit the trees around us.

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Hermione defiantly, holding me back from lunging at the pale faced rat.

"Granger, they're after Muggles," said Malfoy. "D'you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around… they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh."

"Hermione's a witch," Harry snarled, cutting across before I said some rather not nice words.

"Have it your own way, Potter," said Malfoy, grinning maliciously. "If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are."

"You watch your mouth!" shouted Ron. "Mudblood" was a very offensive term for a witch or wizard of Muggle parentage, and Hermione was having to struggle to hold me back, and Harry had to hold my other arm..

"Never mind, Ron," said Hermione quickly, letting go of me and seizing Ron's arm to restrain him as he took a step toward Malfoy. There came a bang from the other side of the trees that was louder than anything we had heard several people nearby screamed. Malfoy chuckled softly.

"Scare easily, don't they?" he said lazily. "I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to - trying to rescue the Muggles?"

Harry's grip was laxing as he too, fought to stay where he was, and not attack Malfoy.

"Where're your parents?" said Harry."Out there wearing masks, are they?"

Malfoy turned his face to Harry, still smiling.

"Well… if they were, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?"

"Oh come on," said Hermione, with a disgusted look at Malfoy, "let's go and find the others."

"Keep that big bushy head down, Granger," sneered Malfoy. "You should find better friends, Black."

I copied what Ron had said to Malfoy earlier, and the Slythering merely smirked at me.

"Come on," Hermione repeated, and I helped her pull Harry and Ron up the path again.

"I'll bet you anything his dad is one of that masked lot!" said Ron hotly.

"Well, with any luck, the Ministry will catch him!" said Hermione fervently. "Oh I can't believe this. Where have the others got to?"

Fred, George, and Ginny were nowhere to be seen, though the path was packed with plenty of other people, all looking nervously over their shoulders toward the commotion back at the campsite. A huddle of teenagers in pajamas was arguing vociferously a little way along the path. When they saw us, a girl with thick curly hair turned and said quickly,

"Oü est Madame Maxime? Nous l'avons perdue -"

Huh?

"Er - what?" said Ron.

"Oh…" The girl who had spoken turned her back on us, and as we walked on they distinctly heard her say, "Ogwarts."

"Beauxbatons," muttered Hermione.

"Sorry?" said Harry.

"They must go to Beauxbatons," said Hermione. "You know… Beauxbatons Academy of Magic… I read about it in An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe."

"Oh… yeah… right," said Harry, and in any other situation, I probably would've laughed at him.

"Fred and George can't have gone that far," said Ron, pulling out his wand, lighting it like Hermione's, and squinting up the path. I too, lit up my wand, looking around.

"Ah, no, I don't believe it… I've lost my wand!"

"You're kidding, right?"

Ron, Hermione and I raised our wands high enough to spread the narrow beams of light farther on the ground; Harry looked all around him, but his wand was nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe it's back in the tent," said Ron.

"Everything was so hectic," I put in.

"Maybe it fell out of your pocket when we were running?" Hermione suggested anxiously.

"Yeah," said Harry, "maybe…"

How the hell does one lose their wand? Bloody idiot.

A rustling noise nearby made all four of us jump. Winky the house-elf was fighting her way out of a clump of bushes nearby. She was moving in a most peculiar fashion, apparently with great difficulty; it was as though someone invisible were trying to hold her back.

"There is bad wizards about!" she squeaked distractedly as she leaned forward and labored to keep running. "People high - high in the air! Winky is getting out of the way!"

And she disappeared into the trees on the other side of the path, panting and squeaking as she fought the force that was restraining her.

"What's up with her?" said Ron, looking curiously after Winky. "Why can't she run properly?"

"Bet she didn't ask permission to hide," said Harry.

I cringed at that. It wasn't right.

"You know, house-elves get a very raw deal!" said Hermione indignantly. "It's slavery, that's what it is! That Mr. Crouch made her go up to the top of the stadium, and she was terrified, and he's got her bewitched so she can't even run when they start trampling tents! Why doesn't anyone do something about it?"

I had to admit … she had a good argument.

"Well, the elves are happy, aren't they?" Ron said. "You heard old Winky back at the match… 'House-elves is not supposed to have fun'… that's what she likes, being bossed around…"

"It's people like you, Ron," Hermione began hotly, "who prop up rotten and unjust systems, just because they're too lazy to -"

Another loud bang echoed from the edge of the wood cut her off.

"Let's just keep moving, shall we?" said Ron, and I saw him glance edgily at Hermione.

Maybe Malfoy was right … about Hermione. She wasn't safe.

We set off again, I saw that Harry was still searching his pockets, even though we knew his wand wasn't there. We followed the dark path deeper into the wood, still keeping an eye out for Fred, George, and Ginny. We passed a group of goblins who were cackling over a sack of gold that they had undoubtedly won betting on the match, and who seemed quite unperturbed by the trouble at the campsite. Farther still along the path, we walked into a patch of silvery light, and when we looked through the trees, we saw three tall veela standing in a clearing, surrounded by a gaggle of young wizards, all of whom were talking very loudly.

Oh, god … not again.

"I pull down about a hundred sacks of Galleons a year!" one of them shouted. "I'm a dragon killer for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures."

"No, you're not!" yelled his friend. "You're a dishwasher at the Leaky Cauldron… but I'm a vampire hunter, I've killed about ninety so far -"

A third young wizard, whose pimples were visible even by the dim, silvery light of the veela, now cut in, "I'm about to become the youngest ever Minister of Magic, I am."

It was Stan Shunpike, and he was in fact a conductor on the triple-decker Knight Bus. He was the second Wizard I had come across apart from Harry.

"Did I tell you I've invented a broomstick that'll reach Jupiter?" … that came from Ron.

"Honestly!" said Hermione, and she Harry and I grabbed Ron firmly by the arms, wheeled him around, and marched him away, even though he kept trying to look back. By the time the sounds of the veela and their admirers had faded completely, we were in the very heart of the wood. We seemed to be alone now; everything was much quieter.

I didn't know whether to be relieved or anxious.

Harry looked around. "I reckon we can just wait here, you know. We'll hear anyone coming a mile off."

I jumped when Ludo Bagman emerged from behind a tree right ahead of us.

Even by the feeble light of our three wands, I could see that a great change had come over Bagman. He no longer looked buoyant and rosy-faced; there was no more spring in his step. He looked very white and strained.

"Who's that?" he said, blinking down at us, trying to make out our faces. "What are you doing in here, all alone?"

We looked at one another, surprised.

"Well - there's a sort of riot going on," said Ron.

Bagman stared at him.

"What?"

"At the campsite… some people have got hold of a family of Muggles…

Bagman swore loudly.

"Damn them!" he said, looking quite distracted, and without another word, he Disapparated with a small pop. Leaving us all alone again.

"Not exactly on top of things, Mr. Bagman, is he?" said Hermione, frowning.

"He was a great Beater, though," said Ron, leading the way off the path into a small clearing, and sitting down on a patch of dry grass at the foot of a tree. "The Wimbourne Wasps won the league three times in a row while he was with them."

He took his small figure of Krum out of his pocket, set it down on the ground, and watched it walk around. Like the real Krum, the model was slightly duck-footed and round-shouldered, much less impressive on his splayed feet than on his broomstick. Everything seemed much quieter; perhaps the riot was over.

I wondered where the others had got to ...

"I hope the others are okay," said Hermione after a while, voicing my thoughts.

"They'll be fine," said Ron.

"Imagine if your dad catches Lucius Malfoy," said Harry, sitting down next to Ron and watching the small figure of Krum slouching over the fallen leaves. "He's always said he'd like to get something on him."

"That'd wipe the smirk off old Draco's face, all right," said Ron.

"Those poor Muggles, though," said Hermione nervously. "What if they can't get them down?"

"They will," said Ron reassuringly. "They'll find a way."

"Mad, though, to do something like that when the whole Ministry of Magic's out here tonight!" said Hermione. "I mean, how do they expect to get away with it? Do you think they've been drinking, or are they just -"

But she broke off abruptly and looked over her shoulder. I looked quickly around too. It sounded as though someone was staggering toward our clearing. We waited, listening to the sounds of the uneven steps behind the dark trees. But the footsteps came to a sudden halt.

"Hello?" called Harry.

There was silence.

"Who's there?" he called out.

And then, without warning, the silence was rent by a voice unlike any we had heard in the wood; and it uttered, not a panicked shout, but what sounded like a spell.

"MORSMORDRE!"

And something vast, green flew up over the treetops and into the sky.

"What the -?" gasped Ron as he sprang to his feet again, staring up at the thing that had appeared.

I just stared with wide eyes.

It was a colossal skull, comprised of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As we watched, it rose higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation.

Suddenly, the wood all around us erupted with screams, and I clamped my hands over my ears, trying to shut out the noise.

"Who's there?" I heard Harry called again.

"Harry, come on, move!" Hermione had seized the collar of his jacket and was tugging him backward, I followed, trusting her instincts.

"What's the matter?" Harry said, looking at her white and terrified face.

"It's the Dark Mark, Harry!" Hermione moaned. "You-Know-Who's sign!"

"Voldemort's - "

"Harry, come on!"

Harry turned - Ron was hurriedly scooping up his miniature Krum - the four of us started across the clearing - but before we had taken a few hurried steps, a series of popping noises announced the arrival of twenty wizards, appearing from thin air, surrounding them.

Each of these wizards had his wand out, and every wand was pointing right at us.

"DUCK!" Harry yelled, and I felt myself be pulled to the ground.

"STUPEFY!" roared twenty voices, and I covered, my head with my arms, as spells flew over us.

"Stop!" yelled a voice I recognized. "STOP! That's my son!"

"Ron - Harry" - his voice sounded shaky - "Hermione – Navi - are you all right?"

"Out of the way, Arthur," said a cold, curt voice, and I removed my arms from my head, looking up.

It was Mr. Crouch. He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on us. Harry got to his feet to face them, but I stayed down. Mr. Crouch's face was taut with rage.

"Which of you did it?" he snapped, his sharp eyes darting between us. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

What?

"We didn't do that!" said Harry, gesturing up at the skull.

"We didn't do anything!" said Ron, who was rubbing his elbow and looking indignantly at his father. "What did you want to attack us for?"

"Do not lie, sir!" shouted Mr. Crouch. His wand was still pointing directly at Ron, and his eyes were popping - he looked slightly mad. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"Barty," whispered a witch in a long woolen dressing gown, "they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to."

Although she said this, her eyes quickly darted to me, before she shook her head, as if dismissing the thought that I would do it.

"Where did the Mark come from, you four?" said Mr. Weasley quickly.

"Over there," said Hermione shakily, pointing at the place where we had heard the voice. "There was someone behind the trees… they shouted words – an incantation -"

"Oh, stood over there, did they?" said Mr. Crouch, turning his popping eyes on Hermione now, disbelief etched all over his face. "Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy -"

But none of the Ministry wizards apart from Mr. Crouch seemed to think it remotely likely that any of us had conjured the skull; on the contrary, at Hermione's words, they had all raised their wands again and were pointing in the direction she had indicated, squinting through the dark trees.

Harry then helped me to my feet, even though I stood shakily.

"We're too late," said the witch in the woolen dressing gown, shaking her head. "They'll have Disapparated."

"I don't think so," said a wizard with a scrubby brown beard. It was Amos Diggory, Cedric's father. "Our Stunners went right through those trees… There's a good chance we got them…"

"Amos, be careful!" said a few of the wizards warningly as Mr. Diggory squared his shoulders, raised his wand, marched across the clearing, and disappeared into the darkness. Hermione watched him vanish with her hands over her mouth. A few seconds later, they heard Mr. Diggory shout.

"Yes! We got them! There's someone here! Unconscious! It's - but - blimey..

"You've got someone?" shouted Mr. Crouch, sounding highly disbelieving. "Who? Who is it?"

We heard snapping twigs, the rustling of leaves, and then crunching footsteps as Mr. Diggory reemerged from behind the trees. He was carrying a tiny, limp figure in his arms. It was Winky.

Oh, no.

Mr. Crouch did not move or speak as Mr. Diggory deposited his elf on the ground at his feet. The other Ministry wizards were all staring at Mr. Crouch. For a few seconds Crouch remained transfixed, his eyes blazing in his white face as he stared down at Winky. Then he appeared to come to life again.

"This - cannot - be," he said jerkily. "No -"

He moved quickly around Mr. Diggory and strode off toward the place where he had found Winky.

"No point, Mr. Crouch," Mr. Diggory called after him. "There's no one else there."

But Mr. Crouch did not seem prepared to take his word for it. He wanted to see for himself. We could hear him moving around and the rustling of leaves as he pushed the bushes aside, searching for anything else.

"Bit embarrassing," Mr. Diggory said grimly, looking down at Winky's unconscious form. "Barty Crouch's house-elf… I mean to say…"

"Come off it, Amos," said Mr. Weasley quietly, "you don't seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark's a wizard's sign. It requires a wand."

"Yeah," said Mr. Diggory, "and she had a wand."

"What?" asked Mr. Weasley in a shock expression.

"Here, look." Mr. Diggory held up a wand and showed it to Mr. Weasley. "Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken, for a start. No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand."

Just then there was another pop, which made me jump and clutch onto Harry, as Ludo Bagman Apparated right next to Mr. Weasley. Looking breathless and disorientated, he spun on the spot, goggling upward at the emerald-green skull.

"The Dark Mark!" he panted, almost trampling Winky as he turned inquiringly to his colleagues. "Who did it? Did you get them? Barty! What's going on?"

He seemed to know less than the rest of us … and I had no clue what the hell was going on.

Mr. Crouch had returned empty-handed. His face was still ghostly white, and his hands and his toothbrush mustache were both twitching.

"Where have you been, Barty?" said Bagman. "Why weren't you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat too - gulping gargoyles!" Bagman had just noticed Winky lying at his feet. "What happened to her?"

"I have been busy, Ludo," said Mr. Crouch, still talking in the same jerky fashion, barely moving his lips. "And my elf has been stunned."

"Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why -?"

Comprehension dawned suddenly on Bagman's round, shiny face; he looked up at the skull, down at Winky, and then at Mr. Crouch.

"No!" he said. "Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn't know how! She'd need a wand, for a start!"

"And she had one," said Mr. Diggory. "I found her holding one, Ludo. If it's all right with you, Mr. Crouch, I think we should hear what she's got to say for herself."

Crouch gave no sign that he had heard Mr. Diggory, still looking twitchy, but Mr. Diggory seemed to take his silence for assent. He raised his own wand, pointed it at Winky, and said, "Ennervate!"

Winky stirred feebly. Her great brown eyes opened and she blinked several times in a bemused sort of way. Watched by the silent wizards, she raised herself shakily into a sitting position. She looked terrified.

She caught sight of Mr. Diggory's feet, and slowly, tremulously, raised her eyes to stare up into his face; then, more slowly still, she looked up into the sky. She gave a gasp, as she saw the Dark Mark, and looked wildly around the crowded clearing, and burst into terrified sobs.

"Elf!" said Mr. Diggory sternly. "Do you know who I am? I'm a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!"

Winky began to rock backward and forward on the ground, her breath coming in sharp bursts.

"As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago," said Mr. Diggory. "And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!"

"I - I - I is not doing it, sir!" Winky gasped. "I is not knowing how, sir!"

"You were found with a wand in your hand!" barked Mr. Diggory, brandishing it in front of her.

"Hey - that's mine!" Harry called out, as the green light illuminated the wand in Mr. Diggory's hand.

Everyone in the clearing looked at him.

"Excuse me?" said Mr. Diggory, incredulously.

"That's my wand!" said Harry. "I dropped it!"

"You dropped it?" repeated Mr. Diggory in disbelief. "Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?"

I tugged Harry's sleeve, ready to step in front of him if necessary.

"Amos, think who you're talking to!" said Mr. Weasley, very angrily. "Is Harry Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark?"

"Er - of course not," mumbled Mr. Diggory. "Sorry… carried away…"

"I didn't drop it there, anyway," said Harry, jerking his thumb toward the trees beneath the skull. "I missed it right after we got into the wood."

"So," said Mr. Diggory, his eyes hardening as he turned to look at Winky again, cowering at his feet. "You found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up and thought you'd have some fun with it, did you?"

"I is not doing magic with it, sir!" squealed Winky, tears streaming down the sides of her squashed and bulbous nose. "I is… I is… I is just picking it up, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, I is not knowing how!"

"It wasn't her!" said Hermione. She looked very nervous, speaking up in front of all these Ministry wizards, yet determined all the same. "Winky's got a squeaky little voice, and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!" She looked around at Harry, Ron and me, appealing for our support. "It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?"

"No," said Harry, shaking his head. "It definitely didn't sound like an elf."

"Yeah, it was a human voice," said Ron.

"It sounded like a man," I put in.

"Well, we'll soon see," growled Mr. Diggory, looking unimpressed. "There's a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand performed, elf, did you know that?"

Winky trembled and shook her head frantically, her ears flapping, as Mr. Diggory raised his own wand again and placed it tip to tip with Harry's.

"Prior Incantato!" roared Mr. Diggory.

Hermione gasped, horrified, as a gigantic serpent-tongued skull erupted from the point where the two wands met, but it was a mere shadow of the green skull high above them; it looked as though it were made of thick gray smoke: the ghost of a spell.

"Deletrius!" Mr. Diggory shouted, and the smoky skull vanished in a wisp of smoke, and the small whispers broke out amongst a few of the wizards around us.

"So," said Mr. Diggory with a kind of savage triumph, silencing everyone, as he looked down upon Winky, who was still shaking convulsively.

"I is not doing it!" she squealed, her eyes rolling in terror. "I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn't using wands, I isn't knowing how!"

"You've been caught red-handed, elf!" Mr. Diggory roared. "Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!"

"Amos," said Mr. Weasley loudly, "think about it… precious few wizards know how to do that spell… Where would she have learned it?"

"Perhaps Amos is suggesting," said Mr. Crouch, cold anger in every syllable, "that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?"

Amos Diggory looked horrified at the thought of accusing him. "Mr. Crouch… not… not at all."

"You have now come very close to accusing the two people in this clearing who are least likely to conjure that Mark!" barked Mr. Crouch. "Harry Potter – and myself. I suppose you are familiar with the boy's story, Amos?"

"Of course - everyone knows -" muttered Mr. Diggory, looking highly discomforted.

"And I trust you remember the many proofs I have given, over a long career, that I despise and detest the Dark Arts and those who practice them?" Mr. Crouch shouted, his eyes bulging again.

"Mr. Crouch, I - I never suggested you had anything to do with it!" Amos Diggory muttered again, now reddening behind his scrubby brown beard.

"If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory!" shouted Mr. Crouch. "Where else would she have learned to conjure it?"

"She - she might've picked it up anywhere -"

"Precisely, Amos," said Mr. Weasley. "She might have picked it up anywhere… Winky?" he said kindly, turning to the elf, but she flinched as though he too was shouting at her. "Where exactly did you find Harry's wand?"

Winky was twisting the hem of her tea towel so violently that it was fraying beneath her fingers.

"I - I is finding it… finding it there, sir…" she whispered, "there… in the trees, sir."

"You see, Amos?" said Mr. Weasley. "Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated right after they'd done it, leaving Harry's wand behind. A clever thing to do, not using their own wand, which could have betrayed them. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across the wand moments later and pick it up."

"But then, she'd have been only a few feet away from the real culprit!" said Mr. Diggory impatiently. "Elf? Did you see anyone?"

Winky began to tremble worse than ever. Her giant eyes flickered from Mr. Diggory, to Ludo Bagman, and onto Mr. Crouch. Then she gulped and said, "I is seeing no one, sir… no one…"

"Amos," said Mr. Crouch curtly, "I am fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her."

Mr. Diggory looked as though he didn't think much of this suggestion at all, but it was clear that Mr. Crouch was such an important member of the Ministry that he did not dare refuse him.

"You may rest assured that she will be punished," Mr. Crouch added coldly.

"M-m-master…" Winky stammered, looking up at Mr. Crouch, her eyes brimming with tears. "M-m-master, p-p-please…"

Mr. Crouch stared back, his face somehow sharpened, each line upon it more deeply etched. There was no pity in his gaze.

This couldn't end well.

"Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible," he said slowly. "I told her to remain in the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she disobeyed me. This means clothes."

"No!" shrieked Winky, prostrating herself at Mr. Crouch's feet. "No, master! Not clothes, not clothes!"

Harry had told me that the only way to turn a house-elf free was to present it with proper garments. It was pitiful to see the way Winky clutched at her tea towel as she sobbed over Mr. Crouch's feet.

"But she was frightened!" Hermione burst out angrily, glaring at Mr. Crouch. "Your elf's scared of heights, and those wizards in masks were levitating people! You can't blame her for wanting to get out of their way!"

Mr. Crouch took a step backward, freeing himself from contact with the elf, whom he was surveying as though she were something filthy and rotten that was contaminating his over-shined shoes.

"I have no use for a house-elf who disobeys me," he said coldly, looking over at Hermione. "I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and to her master's reputation."

Winky was crying so hard that her sobs echoed around the clearing. There was a very nasty silence, which was ended by Mr. Weasley, who said quietly, "Well, I think I'll take my lot back to the tent, if nobody's got any objections. Amos, that wand's told us all it can - if Harry could have it back, please -"

Mr. Diggory handed Harry his wand and Harry pocketed it, patting my arm in reassurance.

"Come on, you four," Mr. Weasley said quietly. But Hermione didn't seem to want to move; her eyes were still upon the sobbing elf. "Hermione!" Mr. Weasley said, more urgently. I grabbed her arm, pulling her with me as I followed the others out of the clearing and off through the trees.

"What's going to happen to Winky?" said Hermione, the moment we had left the clearing.

"I don't know," said Mr. Weasley.

"The way they were treating her!" said Hermione furiously. "Mr. Diggory, calling her 'elf' all the time… and Mr. Crouch! He knows she didn't do it and he's still going to sack her! He didn't care how frightened she'd been, or how upset she was - it was like she wasn't even human!"

"Well, she's not," said Ron.

Hermione rounded on him, and I glared at him.

"That doesn't mean she hasn't got feelings, Ron. It's disgusting the way -"

"Hermione, I agree with you," said Mr. Weasley quickly, beckoning her on, "but now is not the time to discuss elf rights. I want to get back to the tent as fast as we can. What happened to the others?"

"We lost them in the dark," said Ron. "Dad, why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing?"

"I'll explain everything back at the tent," said Mr. Weasley tensely.

But when we reached the edge of the wood, their progress was impeded. A large crowd of frightened-looking witches and wizards was congregated there, and when they saw Mr. Weasley coming toward them, many of them surged forward.

"What's going on in there?"

"Who conjured it?"

"Arthur - it's not - Him?"

"Of course it's not Him," said Mr. Weasley impatiently. "We don't know who it was; it looks like they Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to get to bed."

He led the four of us through the crowd and back into the campsite.

All was quiet now; there was no sign of the masked wizards, though several ruined tents were still smoking.

Charlie's head was poking out of the boys' tent.

"Dad, what's going on?" he called through the dark. "Fred, George, and Ginny got back okay, but the others -"

"I've got them here," said Mr. Weasley, bending down and entering the tent. The rest of us followed after him.

Bill was sitting at the small kitchen table, holding a bedsheet to his arm, which was bleeding profusely. Charlie had a large rip in his shirt, and Percy was sporting a bloody nose. Fred, George, and Ginny looked unhurt, though shaken.

"Did you get them, Dad?" said Bill sharply. "The person who conjured the Mark?"

"No," said Mr. Weasley. "We found Barry Crouch's elf holding Harry's wand, but we're none the wiser about who actually conjured the Mark."

"What?" said Bill, Charlie, and Percy together.

"Harry's wand?" questioned Fred.

"Mr. Crouch's elf" asked Percy, sounding thunderstruck.

With some assistance from our quartet, Mr. Weasley explained what had happened in the woods. When we had finished our story, Percy swelled indignantly.

"Well, Mr. Crouch is quite right to get rid of an elf like that!" he said. "Running away when he'd expressly told her not to… embarrassing him in front of the whole Ministry… how would that have looked, if she'd been brought up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control"

"She didn't do anything - she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time!" Hermione snapped at Percy, who looked very taken aback. Hermione had always got on fairly well with Percy - better, indeed, than the rest of us here.

"Hermione, a wizard in Mr. Crouch's position can't afford a house-elf who's going to run amok with a wand!" said Percy pompously, recovering himself.

"She didn't run amok!" shouted Hermione. "She just picked it up off the ground!"

"Look, can someone just explain what that skull thing was?" said Ron impatiently. "It wasn't hurting anyone… Why's it such a big deal?"

"I told you, it's You-Know-Who's symbol, Ron," said Hermione, before anyone else could answer. "I read about it in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts."

"And it hasn't been seen for thirteen years," said Mr. Weasley quietly. "Of course people panicked… it was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again."

"I don't get it," said Ron, frowning. "I mean… it's still only a shape in the sky…"

"Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed," said Mr. Weasley. "The terror it inspired… you have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside…" Mr. Weasley winced. "Everyone's worst fear… the very worst."

There was a horrified silence for a moment. Then Bill, removing the sheet from his arm to check on his cut, said, "Well, it didn't help us tonight, whoever conjured it. It scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we'd got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Robertses before they hit the ground, though. They're having their memories modified right now."

"Death Eaters?" said Harry. "What are Death Eaters?"

… Even _I_ knew that.

"It's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves," said Bill. "I think we saw what's left of them tonight - the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway."

"We can't prove it was them, Bill," said Mr. Weasley. "Though it probably was," he added hopelessly.

"Yeah, I bet it was!" said Ron suddenly. "Dad, we met Draco Malfoy in the woods, and he as good as told us his dad was one of those nutters in masks! And we all know the Malfoys were right in with You-Know-Who!"

"But what were Voldemort's supporters -" Harry began. Everybody else flinched – like most of the wizarding world, the Weasleys always avoided saying Voldemort's name. "Sorry," said Harry quickly. "What were You-Know-Who's supporters up to, levitating Muggles? I mean, what was the point?"

"The point?" said Mr. Weasley with a hollow laugh. "Harry, that's their idea of fun. Half the Muggle killings back when You-Know-Who was in power were done for fun. I suppose they had a few drinks tonight and couldn't resist reminding us all that lots of them are still at large. A nice little reunion for them," he finished disgustedly, and I shivered at his tone.

"But if they were the Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?" said Ron. "They'd have been pleased to see it, wouldn't they?"

"Use your brains, Ron," said Bill. "If they really were Death Eaters, they worked very hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power, and told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they'd be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they'd ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives… I don't reckon he'd be over-pleased with them, do you?"

"So… whoever conjured the Dark Mark…" said Hermione slowly, "were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters, or to scare them away?"

"Your guess is as good as ours, Hermione," said Mr. Weasley. "But I'll tell you this… it was only the Death Eaters who ever knew how to conjure it. I'd be very surprised if the person who did it hadn't been a Death Eater once, even if they're not now… Listen, it's very late, and if your mother hears what's happened she'll be worried sick. We'll get a few more hours sleep and then try and get an early Portkey out of here."

Mr. Weasley told Hermione, Ginny and I to stay in the boys' tent for the night, just to be safe, and we all headed to our respective beds. To be honest though … I was glad Mr. Weasley told us to stay … we were all still so shaken by what had happened.

I just couldn't wait to get back to the Burrow … and stay there.

**End of Chapter G.**

**Again, my faithful readers … and those just joining me … I love you all … and I am hitting myself with my wand at my too long awaited update.**

**I probably don't deserve it … but please, drop me a review and tell me your favourite ice-cream flavour.**


	8. Chapter H: Harmonious Days Ahead

**Chapter H: Harmonious Days Ahead.**

* * *

Mr. Weasley woke the others and myself after only a few hours sleep. He used magic to pack up the tents, and we left the campsite as quickly as possible, passing Mr. Roberts at the door of his cottage. Mr. Roberts had a strange, dazed look about him, and he waved us all off with a vague "Happy Christmas."

"Poor guy," I said sadly, realising he had no recollection of last night.

"He'll be all right," said Mr. Weasley quietly to me as we marched off onto the moor. "Sometimes, when a person's memory's modified, it makes him a bit disorientated for a while… and that was a big thing they had to make him forget."

Urgent voices could be heard as we approached the spot where the Portkeys lay, and when we reached it, we found a great number of witches and wizards gathered around Basil, the keeper of the Portkeys, all clamouring to get away from the campsite as quickly as possible. Mr. Weasley had a hurried discussion with Basil; we joined the queue, and were able to take an old rubber tire back to Stoatshead Hill before the sun had really risen. We walked back through Ottery St. Catchpole and up the damp lane toward the Burrow in the dawn light, talking very little because we were all so exhausted. That, and food was heavily on my mind, keeping me from talking too much. As we rounded the corner and the Burrow came into view, a cry echoed along the lane.

"Oh thank goodness, thank goodness!"

Mrs. Weasley, who had evidently been waiting for us in the front yard, came running toward everyone, still wearing her bedroom slippers, her face pale and strained, a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand.

"Arthur - I've been so worried - so worried-"

She flung her arms around Mr. Weasley's neck, and the Daily Prophet fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Looking down, I quickly saw the headline: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling black-and-white photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops. I flinched at the sight of it.

"You're all right," Mrs. Weasley muttered distractedly, releasing Mr. Weasley and staring around at all of us with red eyes, "you're alive… Oh boys…" And to everybody's surprise, she seized Fred and George and pulled them both into such a tight hug that their heads banged together.

"Ouch! Mum - you're strangling us -"

"I shouted at you before you left!" Mrs. Weasley said, starting to sob. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough O.W.L.s? Oh Fred… George…"

I couldn't help the small laugh that escaped, remembering the morning we left. After all that had happened … it seemed so long ago.

"Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly okay," said Mr. Weasley soothingly, prising her off the twins and leading her back toward the house. "Bill," he added in an undertone, "pick up that paper, I want to see what it says…"

When we were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mrs. Weasley a cup of very strong tea, into which Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey, Bill handed his father the newspaper. Mr. Weasley scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.

"I knew it," said Mr. Weasley heavily. "Ministry blunders… culprits not apprehended… lax security… Dark wizards running unchecked… national disgrace… Who wrote this? Ah… of course… Rita Skeeter."

"That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!" said Percy furiously. "Last week she was saying we're wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans —"

"Do us a favour, Perce," said Bill, yawning, "and shut up."

Normally, I would've let off a laugh of agreement, making a comment of my own, patting Bill on thee back, but I don't think any of us were quite right, all of us still fairly shaken.

"I'm mentioned," said Mr. Weasley, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he reached the bottom of the Daily Prophet article.

"Where?" spluttered Mrs. Weasley, choking on her tea and whiskey. "If I'd seen that, I'd have known you were alive!"

I blinked, before being hit with her words that she was truly scread that some of us hadn't made it out.

"Not by name," said Mr. Weasley. "Listen to this: 'If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.' Oh really," said Mr. Weasley in exasperation, handing the paper to Percy. "Nobody was hurt. What was I supposed to say? Rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods… well, there certainly will be rumours now she's printed that."

I didn't like the sound of this woman. And by the looks of it, neither did anyone else.

He heaved a deep sigh. "Molly, I'm going to have to go into the office; this is going to take some smoothing over."

"I'll come with you, Father," said Percy importantly. "Mr. Crouch will need all hands on deck. And I can give him my cauldron report in person."

He bustled out of the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley looked most upset. "Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday! This hasn't got anything to do with your office; surely they can handle this without you?"

"I've got to go, Molly," said Mr. Weasley. "I've made things worse. I'll just change into my robes and I'll be off…"

"Mrs. Weasley," said Harry suddenly, and I jumped at his voice, "Hedwig hasn't arrived with a letter for me, has she?"

"Hedwig, dear?" said Mrs. Weasley distractedly. "No… no, there hasn't been any post at all."

I looked curiously at my best mate. With a meaningful look at Ron, Hermione and me, he said, "All right if I go and dump my stuff in your room, Ron?"

"Yeah… think I will too," said Ron at once. "Hermione?"

"Yes," she said quickly.

"I'll come with," I added, jumping up, and the four of us marched out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

"What's up, Harry?" said Ron, the moment they had closed the door of the attic room behind them.

"There's something I haven't told you," Harry said. "On Saturday morning, I woke up with my scar hurting again."

Hermione gasped and started making suggestions at once, mentioning a number of reference books, and everybody from Albus Dumbledore to Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts nurse. Ron simply looked dumbstruck.

"But - he wasn't there, was he? You-Know-Who? I mean - last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he?"

"I'm sure he wasn't on Privet Drive," said Harry. "But I was dreaming about him… him and Peter - you know, Wormtail. I can't remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill… someone."

Harry sent me a meaningful look, and I understood that 'someone' meant him. I patted him on the arm. Trying not to look as alarmed as I felt.

I mean, come on, this was my best mate we're talking about!

"It was only a dream," said Ron bracingly. "Just a nightmare."

We could only hope so.

"Yeah, but was it, though?" said Harry, turning to look out of the window, I wasn't sure if he was avoiding our gazes or not. "It's weird, isn't it…? My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's sign's up in the sky again."

"Don't - say - his - name!" Ron hissed through gritted teeth, and I rolled my eyes.

"And remember what Professor Trelawney said?" Harry went on, ignoring Ron. "At the end of last year?"

Professor Trelawney was our Divination teacher at Hogwarts. Hermione's terrified look vanished as she let out a derisive snort.

"Oh Harry, you aren't going to pay attention to anything that old fraud says?"

"You weren't there," said Harry. "You didn't hear her. This time was different. I told you, she went into a trance - a real one. And she said the Dark Lord would rise again… greater and more terrible than ever before… and he'd manage it because his servant was going to go back to him… and that night Wormtail escaped."

Ron fidgeted absent mindedly with a hole in his Chudley Cannons bedspread.

"Bloody rat," I hissed, and the others seemed to agree with my sentiment.

"Why were you asking if Hedwig had come, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Are you expecting a letter?"

"I told Sirius about my scar," said Harry, shrugging. "I'm waiting for his answer."

"Good thinking!" said Ron, his expression clearing. "I bet Sirius'll know what to do!"

Maybe, I though grimly. I might love my dad … but he's not the most knowledgeable person I know.

"I hoped he'd get back to me quickly," said Harry.

"But we don't know where Sirius is… he could be in Africa or somewhere, couldn't he?" said Hermione reasonably, causing a sting of pain to shoot through me at the reminder that my Dad was on the run from … well, everyone. "Hedwig's not going to manage that journey in a few days."

"Yeah, I know," said Harry, looking sad.

"He'll get back to you though," I told him. "I got a letter from him the other day. He seems safe enough.

"Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry" said Ron, cutting over what I was about to say next. "Come on - three on three, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play… You can try out the Wronski Feint…and Navi can make sure we don't cheat."

"Ron," said Hermione, in an I-don't-think-you're-being-very-sensitive sort of voice, "Harry doesn't want to play Quidditch right now… He's worried, and he's tired… We all need to go to bed…"

"Yeah, I want to play Quidditch," said Harry suddenly. "Hang on, I'll get my Firebolt."

I laughed and Hermione left the room, muttering something that sounded very much like "Boys."

The game was fun enough. Charlie and I even swapped so I could play while he kept an eye on us. We needed it too.

Not so much Ron, Bill and Harry, but the twins and I tended to cheat a little.

Neither Mr. Weasley nor Percy was at home much over the following week. Both left the house each morning before the rest of us got up, and returned well after dinner every night.

"It's been an absolute uproar," Percy told them importantly the Sunday evening before we were due to return to Hogwarts. "I've been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don't open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders."

Oh no, his best quill. What a shame, I though sarcastically. Next it'll be his shoes are dirty.

"Why are they all sending Howlers?" asked Ginny, who was mending her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi with Spellotape on the rug in front of the living room fire.

"Complaining about security at the World Cup," said Percy. "They want compensation for their ruined property. Mundungus Fletcher's put in a claim for a twelve-bedroomed tent with en-suite Jacuzzi, but I've got his number. I know for a fact he was sleeping under a cloak propped on sticks."

Mrs. Weasley glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was completely useless if you wanted to know the time, but otherwise very informative. It had nine golden hands, and each of them was engraved with one of the Weasley family's names.

There were no numerals around the face, but descriptions of where each family member might be. "Home," "school," and "work" were there, but there was also "travelling," "lost," "hospital," "prison," and, in the position where the number twelve would be on a normal clock, "mortal peril."

Eight of the hands were currently pointing to the "home" position, but Mr. Weasley's, which was the longest, was still pointing to "work." Mrs. Weasley sighed.

"Your father hasn't had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You- Know-Who," she said. "They're working him far too hard. His dinner's going to be ruined if he doesn't come home soon."

"Well, Father feels he's got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn't he?" said Percy, and I blinked. This would be good. "If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first -"

"Don't you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!" said Mrs. Weasley, flaring up at once.

"If Dad hadn't said anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented," said Bill, who was playing chess with Ron. "Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts' Charm Breakers once, and called me 'a long-haired pillock'?"

"Well, it is a bit long, dear," said Mrs. Weasley gently. "If you'd just let me -"

"No, Mum."

I sent a knowing look at Charlie, who winked at me, also amused by the situation.

Rain lashed against the living room window. Hermione was immersed in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, copies of which Mrs. Weasley had bought for our quartet in Diagon Alley.

Charlie was darning a fireproof balaclava. Harry was polishing his Firebolt, the broomstick servicing kit Hermione had given him for his thirteenth birthday open at his feet. Fred and George were sitting in a far corner, quills out, talking in whispers, their heads bent over a piece of parchment.

"What are you two up to?" said Mrs. Weasley sharply, her eyes on the twins.

"Homework," said Fred vaguely, and I snorted.

"Don't be ridiculous, you're still on holiday," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Yeah, we've left it a bit late," said George.

"You're not by any chance writing out a new order form, are you?" said Mrs. Weasley shrewdly. "You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?"

Restarting? They never stopped. All their stuff is in my trunk.

"Now, Mum," said Fred, looking up at her, a pained look on his face. "If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?"

Everyone laughed, even Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh your father's coming!" she said suddenly, looking up at the clock again.

Mr. Weasley's hand had suddenly spun from "work" to "travelling"; a second later it had shuddered to a halt on "home" with the others, and they heard him calling from the kitchen.

"Coming, Arthur!" called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying out of the room. A few moments later, Mr. Weasley came into the warm living room carrying his dinner on a tray. He looked completely exhausted.

"Well, the fat's really in the fire now," he told Mrs. Weasley as he sat down in an armchair near the hearth and toyed unenthusiastically with his somewhat shrivelled cauliflower. "Rita Skeeter's been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she's found out about poor old Bertha going missing, so that'll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow. I told Bagman he should have sent someone to look for her ages ago."

"Mr. Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks," said Percy swiftly.

"Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn't found out about Winky," said Mr. Weasley irritably. "There'd be a week's worth of headlines in his house-elf being caught holding the wand that conjured the Dark Mark."

"I thought we were all agreed that that elf, while irresponsible, did not conjure the Mark?" said Percy hotly.

"If you ask me, Mr. Crouch is very lucky no one at the Daily Prophet knows how mean he is to elves!" said Hermione angrily.

"Now look here, Hermione!" said Percy. "A high-ranking Ministry official like Mr. Crouch deserves unswerving obedience from his servants -"

"His slave, you mean!" said Hermione, her voice rising passionately, "because he didn't pay Winky, did he?"

"I think you'd all better go upstairs and check that you've packed properly!" said Mrs. Weasley, breaking up the argument. "Come on now, all of you…"

Harry repacked his broomstick servicing kit, put his Firebolt over his shoulder, and went back upstairs with Ron, while I went with Hermione, half-heartedly agreeing with her rant on house elves the entire trip up.

"They're treated just horribly! No rights! No vacations!" She wet on continuing for a while as I covered the joke shop products with some clothes I'd picked up off the bed.

I unpacked the shopping, finding the 'usual' stuff, before I spotted a royal blue fabric and pulled it out of the bag it was in.

"What the hell is this?" I asked Hermione.

She turned, pausing from her rant and looked at the dress.

"It said we needed dress robes on the list."

"Dress robes?" I asked her. "This looks like a dress. A short dress."

Hermione actually laughed at the look on my face. "It's not that bad Navi."

"It is too!" I complained. "I don't wear dresses! I mean, sure it's pretty, and the colours nice … but I just don't … _own_ any."

"You do now."

"Oh, very funny," I said, putting the dress in my trunk and throwing a pillow at Hermione. "Do you have one?"

"Yes," she answered with caution.

"Can I see it?" I asked her, my eyes glinting.

**End of Chapter H.**

_**Reviews are love.**_

_**On another note … EXAMS ARE OVER! HAHA! No more school … forever.**_

_**Unless you count wanting to do a course in make-up artistry school … which I don't. Anywho, what has happened since last update … ooh. Broke up with boyfriend. Who I am completely pissed with at the moment. Lying scumbag. Anyway, you don't care about that. Although I've contemplated becoming a lesbian so I don't have to deal with men in general. But I've accepted the fact that i'm forever alone. **_

_**Which mean I hopefully have time to update more regularly than I do anyway. You know … after I stopped being pissed at my ex. Which may take a while. He keeps contradicting everything he told me in our relationship … ah well. Nothing I can do about it. Except you know … rage. Among other things. Which I won't post on here as it's not strictly speaking legal.**_


End file.
